


Show Me How To Build A Home

by britsmit28



Series: The Trissefer Collection [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Family, Family Bonding, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Sex, No Lesbians Die, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 105,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britsmit28/pseuds/britsmit28
Summary: Yennefer has been here before. Raising children she did not birth. Loving someone she never expected. Trying to find comfort in her home in Vengerberg. It’s both familiar and new. Because the orphaned children aren’t being pursued by destiny or other threatening forces. They don’t possess strange, magical abilities. And Yennefer’s lover is a close friend who wants to build something normal with the sorceress. Someone who loves in a way so different than the witcher did. What once seemed mundane and too human, now seems exciting. Yennefer is ready for this second chance at a family. But she worries that maybe she isn’t enough for Triss or the two orphaned children they must now raise.
Relationships: Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Trissefer Collection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518479
Comments: 221
Kudos: 535





	1. Garden Games

Yennefer fidgets with the lace mask, double checking that the ribbons are snugly tied around the back of her head. The iron wrought gates that stand at the entrance of the Vengerberg Castle are bustling with people, both high born and commoners. She hopes to blend in with the crowd. Hide among the other masked faces, until she spots the person she’s looking for. She stands at the entrance of the castle’s gardens and people step around her as they travel inside to the masquerade ball. The garden grounds have been transformed for the evening, with multi-colored streams of ribbons tied overhead and lanterns attached to iron poles staked into the ground.

Having adjusted the mask to her liking, Yennefer peers inside at the clusters of people. Most are crowded around tables where food overflows, threatening to spill onto the ground. The sound of flutes, lyres and singing sails on the air. And there’s giggling, though Yennefer struggles to find the source and she’s certain it doesn’t belong to the woman she’s currently seeking. She checks to make sure her hair is still pinned up, with only a few curly strands framing her face and once she’s satisfied with her appearance, walks into the party.

A servant passes her balancing a tray of goblets in the palm of her hand. Yennefer grabs one of the goblets and smells honey as she brings it to her lips. Mead. Not a bad choice, though she’d prefer a strong wine.

She feels eyes on her, scrutinizing her outfit, admiring the way the black fabric clings to every one of her curves. But there’s only one gaze she is concerned about and she doesn’t feel it. Yet.

“Lady Yennefer. I didn’t know you would be in attendance.”

She curses under her breath as two men approach. The shorter of the two has his hand still raised in greeting as they bound up to her.

“Master Grant. Master Hremn. A pleasure to see you,” she says. Both men worked in the castle. Grant was a royal attendant, a man who kept his mouth close to the ear of the current monarch as well as monarchs of past. While Hremn worked closely with the military, securing provisions and weapons during times of war and peace. There was a time when Yennefer did her best to stay on these men’s good sides. Now…

She wished for a portal to take her away.

Grant stands close, invading Yennefer’s personal space. She takes two small steps backwards.

“It’s a pleasure to see you gracing these court grounds once again,” Grant says, smiling wide. “What drew you out of your home?”

“I was curious,” she says.

In truth, she was here at Triss’ pleading. Yennefer had no interest in attending any parties or rubbing elbows with the influential members of the court. That was a life she was happy to put behind her. She received invitations to various courtly affairs and celebrations, but she never responded. But Triss spotted the latest invitation on a counter one day a few weeks back and squealed. Every time they lay in bed, she begged the raven-hair woman to respond that she and a guest would be in attendance. Yennefer agreed only after Triss promised to make the night memorable.

“Does this mean you’ll be returning to our fair court?” Hremn asks.

Yennefer shakes her head. “I’m just here for my personal enjoyment.” She takes a sip from her goblet and scans the crowd, still not spotting the red-haired woman. The castle’s doors were opened, allowing guests to filter in under the watchful gaze of armed soldiers. She pretended to see something of interest.

“Excuse me gentlemen,” she says, already retreating. The two men stumble over each other to try and bid her goodbye, but Yennefer is no longer paying attention, pushing her way through the crowd until she reaches the tall iron-wrought gates. The guards stare ahead as she passes.

She travels a familiar path, her footsteps muffled against the velvet carpeting that runs the length of the hall. The brick walls are a deep red and covered with coats of arms, portraits of the royal family and landscape paintings of Lower Aedirn and surrounding regions. Yennefer is drawn to a small painting of the castle’s exterior when she feels a rush of magical energy close by. She glances around, unsurprised that no one experienced the sensation that she sensed. She heads to the end of the hall. It’s nearly empty, with most of the other guests inside sticking close to the throne room or one of the dining halls.

She stops in front of a wooden door and presses her palm against it, assessing the magic coming from behind the door. It’s familiar and a welcomed presence. She smiles and grips the iron handle, pulling it until the door cracks open. She looks around again, making sure no one notices her and fails to spot the pale hand shooting out of the darkness and grasping her wrist.

Yennefer is pulled inside, gasping as she’s pinned against a cool, stone wall. A warm pair of lips kiss her neck. She moans and rolls her head back, exposing more of her neck.

“Where have you been hiding?” she asks.

Triss smiles against her skin. “Around. I spotted you when you first arrived. You look beautiful.” Her hands travel down Yennfer’s hips, her fingers tracing the dress’ fabric until she finds the bottom. The older woman shivers as warm fingers trail up the inside of her thigh.

“No underwear,” Triss says.

“You were supposed to find that later.” Her eyes flitter shut and she spreads her legs as Triss teases her entrance with two fingers.

They kiss. “I hope you have other secrets for me,” Triss says when they pull apart. She pushes her fingers inside. Yennefer chews on her bottom lip to stifle her moan. Her nails dig into the other’s woman back and she wraps a leg around Triss’ waist, pulling her closer.

Yennefer struggles to stay quiet. Her mind quickly overwhelms with a lusty fog, but she’s aware enough to know there are people just outside in the hall. Triss smiles as she sees the other woman struggle to contain herself. She thrusts her fingers in deep until her knuckles are coated in wetness and curls her fingers as she pulls out.

She moans Triss’ name and brings their foreheads together. She tries to reach beneath Triss’ dress, but the woman grabs her hands and pins them to the wall.

“Later,” she says.

But this isn’t enough for Yennefer. She wants to feel Triss’ warmth as they press their bodies together. It’s been over a month since the snowstorm and the start of their romantic affair. They’re a couple, of sorts. Yennefer has been trying, sometimes even succeeding at meeting Triss on her level. There have been surprise meals and romantic ventures into Vengerberg and the surrounding valley. By far, the easiest part of their relationship was the sex. They were compatible in bed in a way that still shocks Yennefer. So much so that she fears that is all their affair is based on. She’s afraid that somewhere down the road, Triss’ feelings will disappear and once again Yennefer will be left alone.

But she never shares this with her lover.

Instead she’s selfish with her affection, reveling in these moments of intimacy, committing the feel, taste and scent of Triss to her memory. Because if she’s going to be abandoned once again, she wanted clear memories to keep her afloat.

Triss kisses her ear and whispers encouragement as Yennefer reaches her climax. She loves the tenderness in her lover’s voice and the firmness of her commands.

“Come for me Yenna.”

It sends her over the edge. A loud moan fills the small space, no doubt echoing out into the hall. She collapses against Triss, breathing hard to catch her breath. The redhead woman pulls her fingers free, wiping them on a cloth on a nearby table. She waits until Yennefer can stand on steady legs before sliding out of her embrace, smirking as she taps into a magical source.

“Come find me again,” she says, winking as she opens a portal and disappears into it.

Yennefer could trace it and find her easily, but she’s happy to give chase.

She makes sure her clothes, hair and mask are in place before leaving the room. There are a few curious glances cast in her direction as she emerges, but she ignores them and searches for an exit. She walks the rest of the length of the hallway and turns left down a corridor. In front of her are another set of doors, open wide and leading to a section of the garden normally reserved solely for royal attendants and the family. It’s quieter than the front of the castle, with only a few people milling about as a bard tucked away in a corner strums a lute. The song is a familiar one, something penned years ago that Yennefer actually enjoys. But the bard strums the final notes and the sorceress resumes her search.

There’s a silk scarf on a table, one that belongs to Yennefer. She picks it up, smiling at the lingering warmth she feels. She wraps it around her hand and looks around. A faint magical source comes from the tree line and she walks in that direction. It grows stronger the closer she gets. She stops just beyond the trees, expecting to once again be pulled into the shadows. Instead, she receives a telepathic message:

_Warmer._

She releases a breath, her body tense with anticipation. The shadows are a cool hug and she yearns for the moment she can finally embrace Triss. Yennefer moves blindly through the woods, stepping over exposed tree roots, ducking under branches. Her hand is outstretched in front of her to keep her from stepping into something. She hears Triss’ voice in her mind again.

_A lot warmer._

Yennefer is surprised how much she’s enjoying this game. She believed she was too old for exploits like this. The chase and tease didn’t really interest her anymore. Until Triss appeared outside her door during a snowstorm.

Now, they were making love at various spots around Vengerberg, touching each other furtively as they hear people approaching, giggling as they sneak away seconds before they’re caught. It makes Yennefer feel younger than she truly is.

But it’s more than that. It’s the surprises Triss springs on her, like the meals that nourishes Yennefer and the small gifts left around the house. Flowers after solo visits into town. Late night massages that always manage to lead to sex. Yennefer tries to return the favors, though she’s unused to such romance and she always feels a step or two behind.

She sees silvery light ahead and breaks through the trees into a clearing with a large lake in the middle. Moonlight hits the lake’s still surface and she sees a figure standing on the bank just ahead of her. She treads slowly but Triss hears her approaching and glances over her shoulder.

“Found me.”

Yennefer takes three wide steps, closing the distance between them and wraps her arms around Triss’ waist. She buries her face in those fiery red strands and breaths in deep. But before she can get comfortable, the other woman steps out of her arms and spins on her heel. Triss reaches for one of her hands and laces their fingers together.

“Want to go for a swim?” She’s already unzipping her emerald dress, letting it drop to the grass. She steps out of it, kicking it to the side. Yennefer’s mouth runs dry at the sight. But she smirks and turns her back to the other woman.

“Help me out of this dress then.”

Triss places kisses down her spine as she unzips the dress and just as Yennefer starts to enjoy the attention, the cold air touches her shoulders. Triss yelps as she jumps into the lake, sending water up into the air. Yennefer sits on the grass and slides into the water. She pulls the other woman into her arms and their kiss is deep, passionate, full of longing.

“We’re missing the party,” Yennefer says.

“I don’t mind.

Yennefer didn’t mind either. She preferred being here with Triss. They swim small laps around each other. Triss splashes water, starting a water battle that ends when Yennefer grasps her lover’s hands and pull them under the water. They’re both giddy and excited. This is new for Yennefer. She never had this with the witcher or any other lover from her past. How did Triss bring this out of her?

They swim to the bank and Triss pushes up onto the grass, laying onto her back. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. Yennefer runs a hand along her pale, warm thigh and whispers Triss’ name. The redhead woman pushes up on her elbows and locks eyes with Yennefer as the raven-haired woman pulls Triss’ underwear down and flings them in the direction of the discarded dresses. She pushes the woman’s thighs apart and kisses the soft, wet skin. Triss’ moan is loud as she collapses back on the grass. She arches her back as Yennefer brings her mouth to her lips, sucking and teasing the sensitive area with her tongue.

She’s gotten better this past month, finding ways to drag out Triss’ pleasure until she’s gasping and pleading for Yennefer to let her have her release. The older sorceress finds that she most enjoys pleasing Triss in this way. There are many things she loves about being between Triss’ legs. She loves the sounds her lover makes, the way her muscles twitch against Yennefer’s shoulders, the way her lover threads her hand through those black locks, scratching at the scalp. She most loves that she can bring Triss to orgasm multiple times in just a few minutes.

The redhead mewls as Yennefer slips a finger inside. She comes up for air and smiles at the flush of Triss’ skin and her parted mouth. Yennefer has learned the signs of when her lover is about to come. Sometimes, she pays close attention, slowing down to prolong the other woman’s pleasure. She would save that for tonight when they’ve returned to her home and the new bed that was delivered this morning. But now, she kissed her lover’s inner thigh and brought her mouth to Triss wet lips again, sucking on the sensitive clit.

“Gods Yenna.”

Triss’ legs press against Yennefer’s head and she lifts her hips into the air as she releases a low moan. She collapses back onto the grass, her chest heaving as she takes in deep breaths. Yennefer climbs out the lake and settles next to her lover, running a finger along her stomach. She kisses her shoulder.

Yennefer thinks about the party just a few feet from them. About all the people who are close to being drunk and trying to impress royalty. She thinks about her time shuffling in and out of various courtrooms and the decades she wasted trying to achieve a fame that she thought she needed. And she thinks about Triss existing on the periphery for all those years waiting for a chance to love Yennefer.

It’s just them now. That’s all she needs.

“Shall we return home?” she asks.

Triss turns her head and looks at her, smiling. “For another round?”

“Of course. And some rest, darling.”

They dress in the dark, helping each other up and securing their masks back in place. They hold hands while they walk to the party, releasing their hold once they’re around people again. A small part of Yennefer feels guilt and a twinge of pain at the sudden loss of warmth. But as soon as they’ve left the gardens, Triss reaches for her fingers again.

They giggle and bump shoulders with each other as they walk home. Sometimes, they’ll stop in the middle of the street and kiss, wrapping their arms around each other. They compliment each other often, though their dresses are now wrinkled, with grass stains running around the hem and their hair is no longer styled to perfection.

Yennefer’s home is just ahead. Triss brings their hands to her lips and kisses the back of Yennefer’s.

“Yen, can I tell you something,” she whispers.

“Of course.”

“I’m really happy here with you.”

The older woman grins and blushes. “I’m happy with you too.”

She squints in the direction of her home, thinking she sees a shadow moving near the door. But she quickly forgets about it as Triss places a chaste kiss on her lips.

“I..um…there’s something else.”

“Yes darling?”

Yennefer senses what her lover wants to say. A confession she’s wanted to share days ago. Yennefer wasn’t sure if she returned that level of affection, but she felt herself becoming more and more fond of Triss Merigold. Maybe even soon, she could give a similar confession under the safety of night.

“Yen I…”

“Yennefer! Triss?”

Both women stiffen and turn in the direction of the third voice. It’s a familiar voice, one that fills Yennefer’s heart with a steady warmth. Though today she also feels a rush of panic.

“Ciri,” she says, stepping away from Triss, snatching her hand back. She walks and embraces her daughter in a tight hug, squeezing her arms around Ciri’s strong back. It’s been a few months since they last saw each other and Yennefer was glad for the surprise. Triss hung back until they were done and hugged Ciri as well. The ashen haired woman looked back and forth between the two sorceresses, raising an eyebrow. Yennefer tries to get ahead of her daughter before she asks about the two women.

“How long have you been here?”

“Not too long ago,” Ciri says.

Yennefer steps around them to the front door, unlocking it so they can get out of the chilly night. Triss stands outside the threshold, silently pleading with Yennefer on what she should do. But the older woman jerks her head inside.

Ciri heads upstairs to a spare bedroom and panic floods through Yennefer again as she hopes her daughter doesn’t pick the one Triss had used on and off since she arrived in Vengerberg. But she breathes in relief as she hears Ciri pick a room at the far end of the hall. She goes into the kitchen, with Triss on her heels.

“What are we going to do?” Triss whispers.

“I’ll talk to her when the time’s right. But until then…”

“We hide the truth.”

But what is the truth Yennefer wanted to ask. That she and Triss were new lovers? That they were dancing around something more substantial? That Yennefer was stumbling into love with a woman she never considered in a romantic light before?

“We just lay low,” Yennefer says. “Ciri will understand once we explain. But I can’t just spring this on her.”

Triss takes a step back and frowns. “Of course not,” she says retreating to the exit.

“Don’t get upset. Just give me time.”

“Sure, Yen. All the time in the world.” She leaves the room, retreating up the stairs. Yennefer swears under her breath and feeling a headache coming on, reaches for a bottle of wine. She peels off her mask, looking at it wistfully as she thinks back on the party, the closet, the lake. She props her elbows on the counter and let her forehead rest against her knuckles.

“How long has Triss been here?”

Yennefer jumps, spilling wine on the counter. “Ciri, you know I hate when you sneak up on me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says with a smile. She sits on the counter and reaches for an apple, tossing it into the air. “So…my question.”

“About a month.”

“She just lives here now?”

Yennefer takes a sip of wine, mulling over her answer. “It’s complicated.”

Ciri ticks an eyebrow. “Sure.”

Yennefer rubs her temples with two fingers and winces. She wanted nothing more than to catch up with her daughter and listen to her adventures from the past few months. But she also needed to check on Triss and soothe her wounds. And she wanted nothing more than to relax in her bed and drift off thinking about the party and the feel of Triss’ body against hers.

She asks Ciri if she’s hungry, if she’d like something to eat.

“I’ll make myself something. Don’t worry.”

“Then I’m off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ciri’s smile is more genuine and heartfelt as she nods. She stoops so Yennefer can kiss the side of her head.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yennefer says, cupping her daughter’s cheek. They wish each other good night and Yennefer climbs the stairs to her room, looking back once at Triss’ shut door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The sequel to 'A Visit to Vengerberg'! I'm really excited to share this and I hope you like it. I'm not sure how long this fic will be. Right now, I envision at least 12 or so chapters. But no promises. It may be shorter. It may be longer. I have the second chapter finished and am currently working on the third chapter. I promise to update when I can. Right now, I hope to update once a week if I can. But in the meantime enjoy and thank you for reading!


	2. A Secretive Encounter

Yennefer tosses in bed, completely wide awake despite the lateness of the hour. She listens, willing her bedroom door to open and for Triss to join her. But the only sound the door makes is the occasional groan as the house settles during the night. She rolls over to her side and tries to sleep. Still, restfulness eludes her. 

After a few minutes, she sits up in bed and rests against the headboard with her arms folded across her chest. She starts to huff, but realizes how petulant that would be. A smile threatens to cross her features as she thinks on the nights Ciri acted similarly when she wasn’t ready for bed. Yennefer sighs. 

Ciri.

It’s why Triss has distanced herself. Why Yennefer struggles to slip out of her room and join her lover in the guest room. They had plans tonight. Testing out the sturdiness of the king-sized bed that was delivered in the morning. Snacking on cheese, fruit and wine in between rounds of sex. Sleeping in to make up for the hours they would lose during the night. 

But Ciri showed up, with an empty stomach, a wide grin and tales from her adventures around the Continent. And suddenly Yennefer and Triss’ plans were pushed into the shadows, waiting for the chance to emerge once they were alone again. 

She was happy to see her daughter. There was no doubt about that. But with another person in the home, the little bubble she and Triss lived in suddenly felt cramped, threatening to burst with the slightest disturbance. That frightened Yennefer. Their relationship, if it could be called that, was still so delicate and precarious. She was comfortable with the idea of Triss in her home and she didn’t want to go back to living alone with the occasional visit from Ciri or an old acquaintance. That wasn’t the future she imagined for herself. 

Though in her youth, she so rarely thought of the future. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t think she would make it far in life, even after her transformation into a sorceress. She could live for years. Philippa was well on her way to reaching 320 or so, if she remembered correctly. But what would her future look like outside of throne rooms and the hallways of castles?

She pictured her home. Two-story. Several bedrooms. A large kitchen. Study room. Sitting room. Basement with casks of wine acquired from various merchants. And when she pictured herself inside, she roamed aimlessly from room to room searching for something. It was much too large for her. 

She imagined Triss in the sitting room, stretched out on the sofa as she leafed through a book, reading passages that interested her. Or she was in the kitchen, preparing a meal for the two of them to share. Or out in the garden, using magic to revive the plants Yennefer neglected. And Ciri was outside as well, training, practicing the movements of a witcher. Or under the shade of a tree, sharpening and cleaning her weapons, preparing for her next adventure across the lands. 

Yennefer liked the image she conjured. But she felt it was hollow, not perfect, missing something. She tinkered with it. The hours slipped by as she imagined different futures. Vengerberg was lovely, but maybe she had outgrown it. Maybe she and Triss could live in Novigrad, darting into alleys to avoid any lingering witch hunters. Or Ciri could visit them in their cottage in the woods. What about winters in the mountains, the two of them embracing each other in front of a fire with a heavy blanket wrapped around their shoulders? That wasn’t bad. Or they could stay near the coast, swimming in the blue waters during the day and making love on the beach at night. Their home could be filled with their friends, more Triss’ than Yennefer’s, though in the end it would matter little which woman the guest were visiting. And maybe, just maybe, they could invite Geralt over and the trio could share a meal, work over what lingering animosity existed between them. 

The more Yennefer thought, the giddier she felt, like a girl preparing for her first encounter with a lover. She yawned into her hand and settled onto the mattress, snuggling under the covers. She fell asleep and dreamt of her and Triss happy together as they move from home to home. 

It’s the smell of fried eggs and bacon that rouses her from her dreams in the morning. And it’s the grumble of her stomach that pushes her out of bed and down into the kitchen. She sees Triss standing at the counter as she plates the eggs. They lock eyes and Yennefer smiles. But Triss looks down and away, focusing once again on finishing their breakfast. It’s then that the older sorceress notices Ciri in the kitchen as well, once again seated on a counter, swinging her legs in the air. 

“Morning Yennefer!” she greets. 

“Good morning Ciri. Morning Triss.”

The redhead mutters a greeting. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Thank you for cooking.” 

Triss looks at her again and a small blush spreads across the bridge of her nose, highlighting her freckles. Yennefer keeps a steady gaze. 

“What’s going on?” Ciri asks, interrupting the brief moment. 

“Nothing,” Triss says as she shuffles by them to set the food on the table. Yennefer’s smile drops, but she tries not to dwell on what her lover just said. It was  _ her  _ idea anyway and Triss was begrudgingly going along with it. Until they could figure things out, to Ciri it all had to appear as though there was nothing there outside of a friendship. For the first time, Yennefer tasted acid in her mouth at the idea of that. 

They sit down to breakfast. It’s difficult making it through a meal without some part of her connected to Triss. But Ciri dominates the conversation, regaling the two sorceresses with stories from her travels, pantomiming certain creatures and scenes as they pop into her mind. The three women share laughs and chuckles in between bites of eggs, bacon and pancakes. An ease settles over them. Pleasant, though it was different than the ease between Yennefer and Triss when it was just the two of them. 

And Ciri misses when Triss absentmindedly leans across the table to refill Yennefer’s glass of apple juice like she had done so many mornings during their time together. Their eyes connect once again and Yennefer feels some strange emotion nestle itself inside of her. 

_ Meet me in the study after this?  _ She sends the message across to her lover, whose cornflower blue eyes widen at the voice inside her mind. 

_ Okay.  _ It’s shaky, making Yennefer a bit nervous. 

“It’s a wonder you two haven’t conquered the world yet,” Ciri says with a smile. 

“What do you mean?” Triss asks. 

The young witcher smirks and props her chin on the back of her hands. “You two are always plotting.”

“Oh so many things, dear daughter. Don’t worry, you’re included in most schemes.”

“Most?” Ciri swipes at her mother, who gracefully pulls her arm out of the way. There was a sliver of truth to Yennefer’s words, though she would never speak it aloud for fear that it would damage her and Ciri’s relationship. She loved her daughter and would forever. But the young woman was still tethered to her past with Geralt. There was no way to untangle or unbind the memories of the witcher from those years. She was Ciri’s mother as much as Geralt was Ciri’s father. While she was older and traveled the world on her own, the young woman was still affected by the time the witcher and the sorceress were together. 

And Triss was there too. Sleeping with Geralt, while pining for Yennefer and caring for Ciri in her own way. Life was messy, but those years, that history...well it was all shit. Most of it anyway. 

If Yennefer and Triss were going to continue as lovers, as partners, then they needed something new, a foundation of their own. Free of destiny and Geralt and the Wild Hunt and the schemes of kings and queens. But Yennefer had little idea what it would or should look like.

When they finish, Ciri offers to clear away the dishes and heads into the kitchen. Triss pretends to focus on a spot on the table as Yennefer walks into the hall. She reaches the study and waits, counting the seconds in her mind. She makes it to seventy before Triss joins her, shutting the door behind her so they can have privacy. They’re both aware of Ciri’s presence a few rooms away and speak in whispers. 

“I missed you last night,” Yennefer says. She leans against the edge of her desk and the redhead mimics her position against the door. “Why didn’t you come to bed?”

“I wanted to.” Triss looks down at her bare feet. “But we both know Ciri has sharp hearing, even without the mutigens.” 

Yennefer steps forward, but freezes when they hear the creaking of the stairs and the floor above them. Ciri retreats into her room and then it’s silent throughout the house. 

“Have you talked to her?” Triss’ eyes flick up to the ceiling, before looking back at the raven-haired sorceress. She shakes head and again walks closer. 

“I will soon, I promise.” And before the redhead can say anything else, Yennefer kisses her on the lips and press their bodies close together. They melt into the kiss, though she feels a bit of hesitation from the other woman. But it disappears as Yennefer holds Triss by the waist. It feels like they’re back at the masquerade, seeking each other among the crowd, stealing kisses and caresses when they can. The kiss holds the fire and passion that’s always been present since their first kiss and Yennefer hates that she didn’t experience this last night in the warmth and safety for her bed. 

She trails her finger up Triss’ leg and plants small kisses down her throat. The redhead is held against the door, her eyes shut tight as Yennefer kisses lower and lower. 

“Yenna…” 

The raven-haired woman settles on her knees and with a gentle push, opens Triss’ legs, smiling at the soft, curly hairs that glisten from arousal. She lifts a pale leg, letting it settle on her shoulder and kisses up towards the intoxicating scent. She nips and kisses the skin that’s quickly turning red from desire. This was a new position for them and Yennefer hoped it would become one they would return to over and over. 

The floor creaks again. It’s almost lost over the sound of Triss’ moan. Yennefer waits, straining her ears, but it seems Ciri has settled once again. 

“Yenna, wait.”

“It’s okay Triss. I think she’s lying down.” She licks her lips, ready to taste her lover for the first time today. But before she can inch forward, Triss reaches down and cups her face. Yennefer smiles, but it fades as she looks into the woman’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” The redhead gulps and tries to regain control of her senses. “I don’t want to do this.”

Yennefer’s heart freezes and her eyes go wide. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I can’t do this. Not in secrecy.” 

She stands and wipes her mouth with the back of her arm. Triss glances away, staring at a spot on the carpet. 

“I don’t understand.”

The redhead opens her mouth and just as quickly closes it. She hugs herself and it’s the most vulnerable Yennefer has ever seen her. “Gods know I want to. And I was looking forward to the rest of the night after the party,” she says with the hint of a smile. But her shoulders slump as she continues. “But I don’t want to hide us. I don’t want to have sex while listening out for Ciri to approach. I can’t do that again.” The last words are spoken so low Yennefer nearly misses them. 

Again? Was she thinking of her year affair with the witcher? Was that mainly consummated in secret? There was secrecy and deception there, sure. Did Triss still harbor a guilty conscious over what happened? If she did, she never expressed that to Yennefer. 

Triss reaches a hand up and caresses the other woman’s cheek, who immediately leans into the touch. It would be easy to lie. To convince the redhead they could make love without worrying about Ciri. And the witcher was an adult. She knew about sex. Yennefer made sure to teach her of it before sending her out into the world. 

But Triss puts her weight on her back leg and lets her hand drop to her side. “I should get ready,” she whispers. “I want to open shop early.” She didn’t want to rely on Yennefer’s financial reserves. She ran a modest medical business out of Yennefer’s home, welcoming people with different ailments inside for healing or consulting. The pay was miniscule compared to the riches they earned as advisors to kings and queens. But Triss earned enough to help with the common household expenses, though the raven-haired sorceress didn’t need the extra money. 

She reached blindly behind her for the door handle. Yennefer stood dumbfounded, at a loss for what to say or how to fix this. 

“I’ll see you later then,” Triss says. Her head is bowed, her eyes still trained on the floor and she closes the door behind her. Yennefer blinks and finds her senses. She goes to open the door, to go after her lover and find some solution. But her pale hand hovers over the handle, before dropping to her side. She curses under her breath and listens to the soft footsteps climbing the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for disappearing for a bit! I really wanted to update on a weekly basis, but life got in the way. (In a positive way though.) I will do my best to catch up. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! And thank you for your kudos and comments. I'm still overjoyed by how much people seem to like my stories. 
> 
> Also, I had to rework some of the story which is why this took so long. I never intended for Ciri to be a big part of the story (I think she was going to leave after 2 or 3 chapters). But you all were excited to have her in the story and I wondered how her presence would affect Yen and Triss' relationship. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading this chapter! And don't worry there should be a new chapter soon (probably sooner than you expect!)


	3. Reaching the Truth

Yennefer needed to get out of the house. She bathed quickly, dressed and knocked on Ciri’s door. 

“Do you want to go into town?” she asks and her spirits lift a bit as her daughter smiles at her. 

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll come down.” She turns to go back to her room. “Is Triss joining?” 

Yennefer shakes her head. “She’ll be working. It’s just the two of us.”

“Perfect.”

The sorceress waits in the sitting room. She places some logs in the fireplace and starts a fire. The room warms in seconds, but before she can get comfortable Ciri bounces down the stairs and says she’s ready. 

It’s a beautiful, sunny day with a slight breeze. It’s close to midday and the streets are packed as people make their way to the main market square. Yennefer thinks to follow the crowd, but is hit with memories of her and Triss making similar, aimless trips to the square. And she struggles to articulate just how much it hurts that her lover isn’t by her side today. 

Ciri lifts her nose in the air and inhales deeply. “The food smells delicious,” she muses. And she moves closer behind the crowd, but Yennefer reaches for her wrist and pulls her in another direction. 

“We can stop there later,” she says. “Let’s just walk for a while.” 

The young witcher opens her mouth to protest, but looks away and sighs. “Okay. Sure.”

And they spend the next few hours walking from one end of Vengerberg to the other. It’s mostly quiet between them. Yennefer is reminded of Ciri’s youth and the time they spent together, talking about magic, stargazing and learning about the other. She almost chuckles. Once they both vied for Geralt’s attention and affection. Now they were closer to each other, able to communicate on a level that could only come from being bare and vulnerable with the other. She thinks about the times Ciri cried out for a mother, grasping in the dark for a figure that was never there. Yennefer filled that space easily, pulling the young girl close to her and waiting for her to settle down and drift off to sleep. And Ciri indulged her at night, leaving a candle lit near the bedside every time they climbed into bed. The young girl never asked why the candle was necessary and it wasn’t until years later that Yennefer talked about her scars from Sodden. 

They could talk about anything. Even Yennefer’s romantic affairs. It would be easy to bring up her and Triss. But anytime she thinks to utter some words, a lump appears in her throat. And she doesn’t know why this is so hard. Surely, Ciri would understand and be happy for the couple. But still…

Still, there is a part of Yennefer that is afraid of rejection, humiliation, or taunts from the ashen-haired woman. She could see it as a betrayal of sorts. She could cling to the idea from her youth that Geralt and Yennefer were meant for each other. Destiny always found a way to bring them back together. Being with Triss would just delay the inevitable. And while neither Geralt’s nor Yennefer’s blood flowed through Ciri’s veins, her rearing was a product of their relationship. It would do the young witcher harm if her adoptive parents never reconciled or rekindle their affair.

And just like that, Yennefer has convinced herself to stay quiet. She can’t tell Ciri the truth. 

They stop at a tailor. Ciri has clothing that needs mending. As a gift, Yennefer commissions several new outfits for her to wear, formal pieces and rugged clothing for she is on a hunt. The tailor is happy for the influx of coin and bows repeatedly as the two women shop.

“Ah, Lady Yennefer, were you pleased with your masquerade outfit?” the older man asks. His greying mustache twitches every time he speaks and his dark brown eyes are kind and gentle as he waits for a response. 

Yennefer nods with a small smile of her own. “Yes, it was lovely. Thank you.” She turns to inspect some fabric, hiding the blush rising up her neck as she recalls the feel of the dress against her thigh as Triss pleasures her with two fingers. 

“And your friend? Was she pleased as well?” the tailor asks. 

_Pleased and beautiful_ , Yennefer thinks. It was her idea to have custom-made dresses for the party, though Triss protested when the cost was revealed. Now that she was no longer in the pocket of a king or queen, the redhead felt undeserving of such niceties. Yennefer ignored all of her arguments, gladly handing over the money to the tailor. In the end, both women were happy with their final appearances (and how easily the dresses slipped off their bodies when necessary).

Ciri is fitted for her new outfits and promises to return in the morning with the clothes that are in need of mending. It will take time for everything to be prepared, meaning the young witcher will be spending days, if not weeks in Vengerberg. 

Could Yennefer go that long without touching or kissing Triss? _Should_ they go that long without being intimate?

“Yen, I’m hungry,” Ciri says as they exit the tailor’s. They wind their way to a tavern, the one Yennefer brought Triss to over a month ago and claim a table near a corner of the room. Ciri orders a spread, but Yennefer misses the exchange with the server. She stares in an area ahead of her, her eyes unfocused, her lips in a slight frown. 

This wasn’t fair to Triss, she realizes now. She didn’t know of her lover’s past relationships, but judging by the pain in her blue eyes when she pushed Yennefer away, it was clear she had her fair share of shadowy, secretive affairs. Why should she endure another? 

But how to broker the truth? What even _was_ the truth? 

The sorceress sighed because she knew it, had begrudgingly embraced in a few days ago as she gazed at Triss in bed one night. 

Yennefer and Triss had embarked on a romantic affair and it was wonderful and frightening and intoxicating and filled her with an endless sense of dread. It staved off the loneliness she felt since she settled in Vengerberg for good. And for Triss? Well she was finally getting a chance at the crush she developed decades ago. And when it first started, Yennefer didn’t think it would last longer than a few months. She wanted to enjoy what time they had together. The sex. The conversations in bed. The shared meals and the gifts. 

But then something unexpected happen. She started to fall in love. And it terrified her because this was natural. Not like with the witcher where their feelings were heavily influenced by magic. She could and did blame magic for her and Geralt splitting up. The power of the djinn was no longer there and they struggled to remember what they enjoyed about each other. With Triss it was different. She couldn’t blame magic if they were to separate. And if she couldn’t blame magic, then it would confirm Yennefer’s deepest fears. That there was something wrong with _her._ That there was always something wrong with her. It’s why happiness and companionship eluded her. Something in her was broken and she was meant for a life of solitude.

The food arrived and Yennefer tries to maintain a conversation with Ciri, though that truth lingers in the back of her mind. 

“Are you okay?” the young woman asks as they finish their meal. Yennefer leans away so the server can clear the table. She takes a sip of wine, letting the bitter drink sit in her mouth while she thinks. 

She dabs at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking about something.” 

Ciri knits her brows. “Is everything okay?

Everything is perfect. Better than Yennefer ever imagined. She’s in love. She thinks it could last. She wants it to last. But she’s so afraid of how others will perceive it. 

Though that’s never bothered her before. Everyone had opinions about her and Geralt, but she shook them off, swept them under the rug even if some of the comments rang a little too true in Yennefer’s ears. She knew people would recycle those comments and critiques when she and Triss went public. 

But again, she asks herself, why does she care? She didn’t care what people said about her and the witcher. She shouldn’t care what people would say about her and Triss. 

Yennefer folds her hands in her lap and looks down at the table. “Ciri,” she says slowly. She could do this. She _had_ to do this. “I’ve taken a lover.”

She expects it to hang in the air, but Ciri recovers quickly. “What?” 

“I’m sharing a bed with another.”

“Geralt?” she asks in a small voice. Yennefer is torn between crying and laughing. So it was true. The young witcher still held onto the idea that destiny would work its magic once again. And while Yennefer accepted the fact that she and the witcher would never be intimate again, she hates that she has to finally shatter that dream for her daughter. 

She shakes her head and looks Ciri directly in her eyes. “Geralt and I will never...we…” She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. Damn, this was harder than she thought. “I undid his last wish and the magic between us is gone. Forever. I’m sorry.”

Ciri’s bottom lip trembles and her hands wring together on the table. Yennefer leans forward and places one hand on top. “I always hoped,” the young woman says quietly, “I hoped you two would work out. You were so in love when I was young and I meant what I said long ago. I wanted to stay with you and Geralt forever.” 

“We’re still a family. Just not in the traditional sense.” Though there was little that was traditional about the three of them and their dynamic. “I’m always welcomed in Geralt’s home and I’m working my way up to allowing him into mine.” It would take a few years of contemplation and eventual forgiveness. She could admit that a part of her missed his companionship. “I’ll get there one day. There’s still a lot of mess I need to sift through.” 

Ciri sits with hunched shoulders, but she lifts her head and smiles at Yennefer. “I think I understand.” She takes a quick sip of ale. “Well tell me about this new lover of yours.”

It’s painfully clear, by the way she looks away again, that she doesn’t want to hear anything. Not yet at least. Yennefer decides to spare her. Take it one day at a time. She reaches into her purse and pulls out coins to pay for the meal. 

“She’s wonderful and I might be in love. But we can save the details for another day. I just didn’t want to hide this from you any longer.” Yennefer stands and makes her way to the door.

This catches Ciri’s attention and any hesitation she had before is thrown away. “She?” Ciri says as she trails after her mother. The lingering sunlight hits their faces and Yennefer sets course for the market. She thinks to buy fresh food to prepare for dinner tonight. Ciri catches up to her and they walk shoulder to shoulder. “Yen you have to tell me more. She. Gods, I never thought you would try women. Wait...can I ask questions about being intimate? Because I’ve been with some women, but I don’t know if I’m good.”

Yennefer hides a smile behind her hand. “I find that it's easier to tell with women. Trust your instincts.” She flushes, remembering the first time she was intimate with Triss. In that moment, she was unsure of what to do. But as she performed and gained more confidence she found that it was easier and better than sleeping with a man. 

They don’t speak again until they’ve reached the market. 

Ciri cups her chin, deep in thought. “Is it Philippa?” 

The sorceress stumbles over the hem of her dress and Ciri catches her by the elbow. “Please, I would go celibate before I ever _consider_ laying with Eilhart.” 

The young witcher throws up her hands with a smirk. She knew what she was doing. Yennefer narrows her eyes and continues walking forward. They stop at the butcher’s stand and purchase cuts of steak and a slab of lamb for later. Ciri carries the meat and runs through different women who could possibly be this new lover. Yennefer notices that the young woman never drops Triss’ name. She can only speculate as to why that is. 

They purchase fruits and vegetables and walk home with the setting sun in front of them. Ciri is thinking again, having run through most of the remaining Lodge members. 

“Priscilla?” 

Yennefer laughs. The bard was cute and sleeping with her would keep Priscilla from eventually having her heart broken by Dandelion. But no she says with a headshake, it’s not her. 

“Tell me,” Ciri begs. “I don’t think I can handle the suspense any longer.”

“I’m glad you’ve come around to the idea of me with someone else.”

“No matter what,” Ciri says growing serious for the first time since they left the tavern, “I want you and Geralt to be happy. If this mystery woman does that for you then I’m satisfied.”

Yennefer feels tears coming. Triss does make her happy, that’s why she’s afraid to lose her. 

They pass an older woman carrying a satchel. The woman smiles and greets Yennefer by her name. The sorceress recognizes her as one of Triss’ repeat customers. She has aches in her joints if the sorceress remembered correctly. 

“Would it be someone I know?” Ciri asks. 

“Yes.”

Orange sunlight cradles the sides of the house as they approach. Triss stands near the front door, her hands on her hips as she speaks to another elderly woman. The orphanage director, Yennefer recalls as they draw closer and she gets a better look. The redhead nods along as the woman talks. When the she senses Ciri and Yennefer approaching, she glances up and smiles at them. It softens as she and Yennefer locks eyes. 

Ciri stops walking and stares between the two sorceresses. Yennefer braces herself. 

“Her?” the young woman asks in a quiet voice. 

“Yes.” Yennefer holds her breath because being with Triss means dealing with baggage from multiple previous relationships: Yennefer and Geralt; Geralt and Triss; Triss and Yennefer’s friendship and Ciri is entangled in many of these. How would she react? The sorceress expected anger and accusations of betrayal. She thought her daughter would storm off and disappear, never to grace her home and the city of Vengerberg again. 

A moment passes. 

Then, a wide grin breaks across the witcher’s face. “Oh this is marvelous!” She skip-walks to the front door, playfully bumping shoulders with Triss as she walks inside. She whispers something and Triss gives her a curious look. The orphanage’s director stands by quietly and waits. She puts some coin in the redhead’s palm, though the woman tries to give it back. 

“I’ll come check on her in a few days,” the woman says as Yennefer draws closer. “Lady Yennefer, you look well. Take care.” She smiles at the two women before slipping out onto the street. 

“Is everything okay?” Yennefer asks once they’re alone. 

Triss nods. She helps the raven-haired woman carry the food inside. “Yes. I’ll explain soon. But first.” She spins in the hall, a small smile on her face. “Why did Ciri say she knows my secret?” 

“Because I do,” the witcher calls from somewhere in the house. 

“Ciri, no eavesdropping.” Yennefer says.

The young woman appears at the top of the stairs and smirks. “Well go on and kiss her,” she says to Yennefer. “I know you want to.”

The raven-haired woman blushes and Triss’ eyes go wide. 

“You told her?” 

Yennefer nods. And it was worth it, she thinks, as her lover beams at her. Triss mouths ‘Thank you.’ And they lean in to kiss. 

But the sound of a wet cough from down the hall stops them before their lips can touch. 

“Oh right,” Triss says. “We have another guest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised there would be a new chapter soon and I'm here to deliver it! Honestly, I can't believe I planned on having Ciri make a small appearance in here. Ciri and Yennefer's relationship is one of my favorite aspects of the Witcher series and it's fun seeing how it evolves now that Ciri is older and out on her own. I loved writing this chapter and I'm excited to see how the three women will get along now that the Trissefer relationship is out in the open. (Don't worry, all three still have a lot to talk about.) 
> 
> Thank you again for reading this! I can't begin to describe how much your comments and kudos brighten my day and keep me writing. I'm still very much in that stage where I enjoy what I write, but I don't think others will like it. So it's heartwarming to have so many people comment on how much they enjoy my writing. I've said before that I'm unsure how long this story will be, but I hope I can keep you all entertained until the very end.
> 
> Have a good weekend! And chapter 4 is on the way! 
> 
> PS- Sorry for the cliffhanger!


	4. A Babe in the Basket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slower chapter and I hope you enjoy it! I'm setting some things up, which will hopefully start to come to a head soon!

A baby. 

Gods. 

That’s what Triss lifts from a woven bassinet and cradles in her arms. It’s wrapped in several thin, filthy blankets and though Yennefer stands on the opposite side of the room, she can smell the mildewy scent that clings to the fabric. She inhales through gritted teeth, while Ciri looks on from over her shoulder. 

“Mistress Granger said the babe has been coughing for a few days,” Triss explains. “I think she has a cold that’s lasted longer than it should, but I wanted to keep her for a while and observe her closely. And it would be best to keep her separate from the other children. I know I should have asked first, but I couldn’t send them away.”

“It’s fine,” Yennefer says as she uproots herself from her spot near the door. Triss rocks with the baby in her arms and smiles encouragingly as the older sorceress approaches. “What’s her name?” 

“Clarissa. She has an older sister too. I believe her name is Emoria.” The baby gurgles and coughs again. Triss knits her brows and frowns. “Poor thing. The mistress says the cough is getting better, but I don’t know.” 

Yennefer guesses the child is a little under a year, maybe no older than 9 or 10 months. She watches the women with wide, dark brown eyes, no doubt trying to make sense of what’s going on. Despite the offensive smelling blankets, the sorceress catches a whiff of that sweet, natural scent that seems to cling to babies. 

“We should bathe her first. And do something about this,” she says, picking at a corner of the blanket. It’s thinner than she expected and given the frequent cold nights, she wonders if they even manage to keep Clarissa warm. 

Triss hums and presses the back of her hand to the baby’s forehead. “She’s warm too. Maybe some food will do her good as well.” 

Ciri looks back and forth between each woman and Yennefer can only imagine what schemes she’s cooking up. “I’ll go in search of some clothes for her to wear.” She’s already racing towards the front door, likely intending to disappear for a while. 

“Don’t dawdle,” Yennefer calls. 

“I rarely dawdle.” 

The front door opens and shuts and Yennefer suppresses a groan. “She’s just excited,” Triss says with a small smile. 

“Excited for the baby or for us to be alone?”

“Both most likely.” The redhead chuckles. “I’ll go bathe Clarissa and find some fresh blankets for her. Can you start a meal?”

“Gladly.”

Triss’ eyes linger on Yennefer’s lips as they both lean in with a smile. The kiss is short, but tender and Yennefer’s heart flips in her chest. 

“I’ve missed your touch,” she whispers. And she didn’t (entirely) mean in a sexual way. It had been less than a day, but Yennefer hated being separate from Triss and having to pretend they were no more than friends. It felt...odd, surprisingly. She didn’t think they would be able to keep up the charade for long. One of them (most likely Yennefer) would have cracked sooner rather than later. 

She smiles as a pale, warm hand cups her cheek. “I’ve missed you too.” 

“Will you come to bed tonight?”

Triss wiggles her eyebrows. “Always so eager. But yes, I imagine I will come to your bed tonight.” 

Yennefer wants to correct her and say it is  _ their  _ bed. They had shared a bed every night since they first had sex. It was, in her mind, already their bed, jointly owned. (Even if Yennefer sometimes splayed herself across the mattress while they were asleep). 

But there were more pressing matters to worry over and reluctantly, she decided to leave that conversation for another time when they were truly alone. They kiss one final time before splitting off to different corners of the house, Yennefer to the kitchen to prepare an early dinner and Triss up the stairs to wash and better clothe the baby.

_ A baby in the home _ , Yennefer muses as she begins to cut the vegetables for a stew. There was a time when the mere thought of a child brought goosebumps to her skin. In her youth, she never considered rearing children. There was even a time when she was glad the transformation prevented her from bearing a child. But over time, she felt empty and in need of  _ something _ . She wanted to feel important and treasured by someone else. And she wished to gain back that which was taken from her. 

Her dreams of motherhood were achieved when she was able to care for Ciri. She was and would forever be indebted to Geralt for giving her what she most wanted in life. Once the Wild Hunt was defeated, she thought she could live a content, retired life with regular, unannounced visits from the young woman. 

But deep down, there was still a part of her that yearned to bring up another child. And to do it without worrying that they would be torn apart by a grand plan designed by forces outside of their control. What would that be like, she wonders. No more nightmares about what’s happening to her child. Or portaling across the lands to chase after leads and the ghosts of rumors. No more brutality, most of which was pointless and still scarred her. Just a normal, healthy (as best she could manage) relationship with a child that she loved dearly. 

And Ciri would have siblings. She’d be a marvelous older sister, frollicking with the children in the garden or teaching them swordplay (under Yennefer’s watchful eyes). And Triss...gods, she would be a wonderful mother, caring in a way that was never natural for the raven-haired sorceress, drawing the children in for warm, strong hugs and whispering kind words to them whenever they cried. She and Yennefer would compliment each other well as parents. 

But Yennefer stops herself before her fantasy takes her too far away. She knows she shouldn’t get attached. This was temporary. Once Clarissa felt better, she would be given back over to the orphanage and Triss, Yennefer and Ciri would move on, finding a routine that they could all settle into. 

This was just a bump in the road. Though it would take time for Yennefer to truly forget. 

She works in silence, reeling her thoughts back when she felt them stray down a winding fantastical path filled with squealing, lively children. By the time Triss joins her in the kitchen, Yennefer is practically beating back renewed dreams of motherhood. 

“Smell delicious,” the redhead says. She brushes hair from Yennefer’s neck and places a chaste kiss along the pale skin. “What are you making?”

“A simple stew. Nothing special. Beef, carrots, potatoes, barley.” She hums in appreciation as a pair of arms are wrapped around her waist and she’s pressed into her lover. “Where’s the baby?”

“Asleep, upstairs.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yup. The mistress left some supplies and other things for me to use. They’re pretty good. Well, adequate. But it will do for now.” 

Yennefer lingers on those last two words.  _ For now.  _ Gods, how she wishes it was longer than a few days. Would Triss be okay with a new member to their...to whatever they are? Would it be too soon to bring up the topic? Did Yennefer truly want to experience this again?

“What are you thinking about?” Triss asks. She places another kiss on Yennefer’s neck, this time letting her teeth graze against the skin. She smiles when she feels the woman shiver in her arms. 

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” 

Yennefer chuckles. “What are  _ you _ thinking about?”

The redhead is quiet for a moment. “Hm...I’m wondering what’s the best way to keep you quiet tonight when I’m between your legs. We don’t want to disturb Ciri and Clarissa.” 

“Funny,” Yennefer says, trying to keep her voice even though her body starts to respond to Triss’ comment. “I thought I would need to cover your mouth when I’m inside you.” She steps away from Triss, glancing over her shoulder with a challenging look in her lilac eyes. A blush runs up the redhead’s neck as she tries to gain her composure. Yennefer reaches for several bowls and silverware, handing them to Triss with a kiss on the lips. 

“Set the table, please,” she says. “We’ll eat once Ciri returns.” 

The redhead walks out, still in a stupor and Yennefer chuckles, though she feels blood leaving her own cheeks. It would be tricky making love now, she realizes. Ciri could always slip out and sneak away if the sorceresses were too vocal in their part of the house. But now they would need to be aware of the baby. Where would she even sleep? It would be unfair to place her in the room with Ciri. But the women couldn’t partake in their usual nighttime activities while the baby slept in a corner of their room. The only option would be to abandon their plans at making love until Clarissa was back in the orphanage. And that idea brought a frown to Yennefer’s face. 

Half an hour passed and Ciri returned home, her cheeks flushed. She took several deep breaths and wiped at the sweat on her forehead. 

“I didn’t dawdle,” she says, still breathless as she places several bags on the ground. 

“Much,” Yennefer teases. 

Triss steps into the hallway with the baby once again cradled in her arms and Yennefer’s heart seizes at the sight. The redhead peers into the bags, smiling as she looks over the newly purchased clothing. But before they can go through each piece of clothing and other knick-knacks Ciri brought, Yennefer says they should sit down to dinner before the stew grows cool. 

The meal goes by better than expected. Clarissa takes small bites of soup that Triss feeds her, while Ciri makes faces to catch the baby’s attention. Yennefer watches, sipping her wine in silence and refilling her lover and daughter’s empty bowls when they finished their servings. At one point, Triss reached for Yennefer’s hand and drew her in for a short kiss, while Ciri looked on with a soft smile. 

When everyone is full and the dishes have been washed and stowed away, the women move to the sitting room and Ciri builds a fire in the hearth. She lays out the clothing for the two other women to inspect. 

“It’s only temporary,” Triss says with a chuckle as the young woman continues to dig out new pieces. 

“Well, you never know,” Ciri replies. She glances at Yennefer perched on the edge of the sofa with Clarissa in her lap. She holds the baby upright with one hand, while extending a finger in the air to test the baby’s grip and strength. The sorceress grins as several tiny fingers wrap around her finger, pulling her hand closer. Yennefer looks up as she hears Triss sigh and the two women smile at one another. The redhead sits next to her lover and uses a cloth to wipe at the baby’s nose. 

The next hour flies by as Ciri displays the different outfits for the women to vote on. Triss approves many of the pieces and soon Clarissa is dressed in a simple, but warm cotton one piece that covers her arms, legs and feet. Triss slips upstairs to give the baby a dose of medicine before they all retire for the night and surprisingly, Clarissa is a lot more alert and active when they return. She crawls on the floor to Ciri, who picks her up and lifts her in the air. The sorceresses cuddle on the sofa, Yennefer leaning into Triss with her head tucked underneath the redhead’s chin and watch the young witcher entertain the baby. Yennefer feels herself grow sleepy from the excitement of the day, utterly content with the sounds filling her home. 

“I could watch her tonight,” Ciri says suddenly. She turns towards the woman, her smile a shy one. “I’m sure you two want some time together.”

“Are you sure?” Triss asks. And Yennefer detects the slightest bit of excitement pouring from her lover. “She’ll be easy to manage. The medicine will make her sleepy soon.” And as if on cue, Clarissa yawns wide. 

Ciri hugs the baby close and rests her chin on top of the girl’s head. “Then we’ll both sleep well. I promise I can manage. She’s been fed, washed, clothed and given medicine. We’ll tucker in for the night and drift right off.” 

“What do you think?” Triss asks, looking down at Yennefer. 

The woman thinks for a moment. “Promise to come to us if you need anything?”

“I promise.” 

She smiles and scoots from underneath her lover’s embrace. “And you’re sure you won’t get frustrated if she wakes in the middle of the night?”

“Yes Yen. I promise I can take care of her. She’ll be fine. Go off to bed.”

Yennefer looks at Triss from the corner of her eye and shiver runs through the redhead. The raven-haired woman stands, reaching out a hand to pull her lover up. “Very well then. Good night Ciri. Good night Clarissa.” She kisses both the young witcher and the baby on the crowns of their heads, with Triss mimicking her. 

“Good night ladies,” Ciri calls, lifting Clarissa’s hand in the air to wave at them. Yennefer’s smile grows soft as she looks over her shoulder one final time at the grinning witcher and the sleepy baby. Triss’ hand appears on the small of her back, leading her towards the stairs, but she doesn’t look away until she’s passed the threshold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't realize it's been so long since I last added a chapter. My apologies! The next chapter shouldn't take as long. I'm really excited for it because we're going to dive into some of Triss' history with relationships and it will be enlightening! (I hope.) 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, suggestions and kudos. Especially the suggestions! Keep those coming and hopefully I can work them into the story. 
> 
> PS- Don't worry. The unicorn will definitely show up at some point! ;)


	5. Whispered Confessions

Yennefer swings her legs onto the bed and pulls at Triss until the redhead straddles her. They both smile and blush as the younger sorceress settles, cupping a hand on the back of her lover’s neck and leans in for a soft kiss. Their tongues wander and explore each other’s mouth and Yennefer holds the woman’s hips. The two women get lost in the kiss, neither one in a hurry to rush things or move to the next step. Less than a day apart and they were making up for lost touches, missed kisses and quiet moments that made them crave one another. 

In the back of her mind, Yennefer is grateful she told Ciri about her new affair. Whatever fear stilled her tongue earlier had long since disappeared, not missed by the raven-haired woman in the slightest. It  _ was  _ unfair, she admitted to herself. But she couldn’t complete the thought as Triss broke the kiss, capturing her bottom lip in between her teeth and slowly, almost achingly so, releasing it. Yennefer shuddered, her hand twitching on the redhead’s hip. Triss tucks her own bottom lip between her teeth and looks at her lover with half-lidded eyes. She rolls her hips, grinding into Yennefer’s lap and both women sigh. 

Triss was usually the one to initiate everything, but tonight, Yennefer wanted to take charge and bring the redhead to orgasm first. They kiss again and she unbuttons the woman’s shirt, slipping a hand under her bra to caress her breast and nipple. Triss arches her back and breaks the kiss. Yennefer trails soft, butterfly kisses down her jaw, neck, under her chin, anywhere she can reach. She pinches the redhead’s nipple, causing the woman to jump and moan. 

Yennefer unbuttons the rest of the blouse and leans away to pull it free from Triss’ body. She smiles, glancing up and locking eyes with the redhead as she undoes the bra one hook at a time. Cold air hits Triss’ body and her nipples stand erect, teasing Yennefer who takes one in her mouth. She circles her tongue around the areola, before flicking it up the nipple. 

“Yenna.”

The sound boosted her confidence, compelling her to find new ways to pleasure Triss. She pushes into the woman until Triss is flat on her back with Yennefer on top. The raven-haired woman kisses and sucks on the other nipple, paying equal attention until she’s ready to slide further down Triss’ body. She pauses, looking at the woman she’s growing to adore. Triss’s cheeks are red, blotchy from desire, her breathing shallow and she sucks in air as Yennefer reaches for the band of her pants, undoing the tie with nimble finger. Triss lifts her hips letting the other woman free her from her pants and underwear. 

Her arousal is divine and Yennefer wants to taste it, but restrains herself. 

She kisses her way back up Triss’ body, her lipstick leaving a winding trail along the pale skin. Triss reaches down, her hands threading in the raven locks, before running down her spine to the bottom of Yennefer’s shirt, pulling it free. The sorceress smiles against her lover’s skin once she’s free of the shirt and shifts, straddling the redhead. They make eye contact and a smirk appears on Yennefer’s face as she slowly unclasps her bra. The bands fall slack against her shoulders and she holds the garment in place with her arm. Triss slides her hands up Yennefer’s sides and fingers the underside of the bra, silently asking a question. Quirking her eyebrow, the raven-haired woman removes her arm, stripping the bra from her breast and flinging it onto the floor. She sighs as Triss palms her left breast, while gently pinching the right nipple. She arches her back, loving the attention she’s receiving. 

They keep their voices low as they touch each other, not wanting to disturb Ciri and Clarissa. But Yennefer’s moan echoes through the room as Triss dips a hand inside her pants. She shifts backwards and takes deep breaths. 

“What’s wrong?” Triss whispers. 

“Nothing,” Yennefer says with a smile. “Just I planned on making you orgasm first.” She leans forward, catching Triss’ lips in a kiss. 

“Well hurry up and touch me,” the redhead says into her lips. 

Yennefer peels off her pants and underwear in one go, kicking them in a corner. Their naked bodies touch and they moan into each other’s mouths. Triss’ breathing hitches as Yennefer runs a hand between their bodies and slides a finger down her wet entrance. She runs small circles around the sensitive bud, teasing it out and pinching it between her fingers, causing the redhead to shudder. Then, using two fingers, Yennefer pushes inside moaning at the feel of the soft, wet walls that envelope her fingers. She twists her hand, thrusting in and out, her palm rubbing against Triss’ clit. Yennefer wraps her free arm around her lover’s shoulder, pressing their bodies closer. The redhead moves her hips in time with Yennefer’s hand, taking as much pleasure as she can. 

The raven-haired woman breaks the kiss, gazing at her lover whose eyes are shut tight. 

“You’re so beautiful darling,” she whispers near Triss’ ear. “Fuck, you feel so good around my fingers.” She plants butterfly kisses along her lover’s jaw and behind her ear. 

Two fingers run up her own entrance, entering with little resistance. “Oh, fuck Triss.” 

Between breaths, the redhead says, “I can’t have all the fun.” 

Yennefer dips her head and bites down on her lover’s shoulder as a moan rips through her. Triss curls her fingers, her nails grazing against the most sensitive part. They buck and grind each other. The redhead scratches at Yennefer’s back and nips at her ear, breathing heavily against her skin.

Yennefer notices a shift in how they make love. The uncertainty they once felt when they lay together had long since disappeared. But tonight, she felt a comforting steadiness in their touches. A sense that neither woman had to try too hard to impress the other. There was no need to perform, to slip into a persona to lure and entice the other. Yennefer could be herself, bare her ugly parts as well as her good parts and know that Triss would care for her no matter what. Her heart felt full at the prospect of this new development. 

“I’m close Yenna.”

“Me too.” 

Triss threads her fingers through the thick raven hair, tugging gently until their foreheads meet. Yennefer dares a peek at the woman beneath her, plants a small kiss on her chin. 

Despite her earlier plan, she’s the first to come, her fluids squirting on Triss’ fingers, sliding down her wrist. Triss moans, her back curving on the mattress as she follows Yennefer into an orgasm. Their hands still move as they ride out their pleasure. And they collapse into each other, sucking in air as they come down. The air is heavy with the scent of their affair and Yennefer prays it doesn’t seep into the hall. 

“Gods, Yen you’re intoxicating,” Triss says with a small chuckle. She pulls her fingers out slowly, gasping as Yennefer removes her hand as well. The raven-haired woman rolls on her side, facing the redhead. She feels a pluck in her heart, the final thread connecting her to steady ground and as she looks at Triss’ blissful face, she accepts that she’s plunging quickly and deeply in love. 

Yennefer smiles. “I’d say the same for you, dear.” 

“You don’t think we were too loud?” The redhead glances towards the door, before scooting closer, tucking herself under Yennefer’s arm. 

“Ciri didn’t burst in here, so I’d say we’re fine.”

“Or she’s absolutely mortified.”

They lay in silence, as if listening out for ambient noises from the young witcher or the baby. But it’s quiet throughout the house. After a while, Triss grabs the comforter and pulls it over them, curling back into Yennefer for extra warmth. And the raven-haired woman accepts her with open arms, smiling to herself as she thinks about the distance between them earlier today. How quickly things could change. 

And yet there was something that nagged her. She was afraid of bringing up their earlier conversation, especially so soon after their love making. Their conversation in the study, brief as it was, impacted Yennefer, bringing a sour taste to her mouth as she replayed it in her mind. She remembered Triss’ crestfallen face, the way the expression slid into place with a familiar ease as though this wasn’t her first time pushing away a lover. 

_ I can’t do that again.  _

Yennefer’s heart seizes as she hears those words. Gods, what had she made Triss relive in that moment?

She runs her hands up and down the redhead’s spine and whispers her name. 

“Mhm?” the woman asks. 

Yennefer’s heart hammers in her chest as she tries to word her question. Should she even voice it? She wanted to know, if only to never put Triss in a situation like that again. But she didn’t want to frighten the woman. There were so many things that weighed heavy in their hearts. Events that would take time, weeks, possibly even months to fully unpack. 

“What’s wrong Yen?”

The raven-haired sorceress licks her lips. Better to dive in than dance around it. That’s how their relationship always worked. A bluntness that allowed them to break down the superficial, flimsy walls they tried to maintain in their early years. 

She hums as Triss lightly scratches her back. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” the redhead says, smiling against the skin. Yennefer hates that it will disappear soon. 

“What you said earlier today, what did you mean by it?”

“I said many things earlier today,” Triss says, though Yennefer feels the tension start to build. 

The raven-haired woman leans back until they can look into each other’s eyes and she cups Triss’ cheek. “I put you in an…” Yennefer searches for the right word. “In an uncomfortable position. I need to apologize for that and I want to know how to avoid doing that. I don’t want to hurt you in that way ever again.”

Triss takes in her face, her cornflower blue eyes bouncing around. She sighs, rolling over onto her back, though she’s still under Yennefer’s arm. 

“It’s silly,” she whispers. 

Yennefer pushes up onto her elbow and strokes Triss’ stomach. “It’s not. You can tell me,” she says, leaning down to kiss the woman’s shoulder. She watches as different emotions splay across the woman’s face, before it clears away, leaving a faraway expression in its wake. 

“I was always the second choice,” she whispers. Yennefer leans in to better hear. “The bed wench you went to before returning home to your wife.”

Yennefer knits her brows together, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from interrupting. But it was hard to hear and they had only just begun. 

“In my youth, I thought it was okay. I convinced myself that any affection, no matter where it came from, was good. Men and women slipped into my bed late at night, at hours when everyone else was in a deep sleep. I mastered how to come quietly so as not to wake anyone. And the sex, gods, the sex was rough, hasty, sometime painful.”

A tear slides down her cheek and Yennefer kisses it away. But Triss doesn’t react, so deep in her story that she continues without pause. 

“I wanted it. Well, I wanted the attention. So when some royal official pushed me against a wall in a darkened hallway and took me, I said it was love. When a knight slipped from my bed before we even caught our breath, I told myself he would come back eventually. Sex was love, affection, attention and I craved it.”

Yennefer settles on her shoulder again and nuzzles into Triss’ neck. Surprisingly, the redhead scoots closer to her. 

“It wasn’t until Geralt that I realized how terrible this trend was, but I couldn’t stop. We had sex over and over and each time I told myself, he’d stay with me for good. But you were always first. And honestly, I can’t fault him because you’re incredible Yen.”

Yennefer clears her throat. “Triss, I think you’re wonderful.” 

“You have to say that now,” the redhead says. “I just gave this dark story, so obviously you need to make me feel better. I appreciate it. But it’s okay. I know I’m common.”

“You’re not!”

Triss’ laugh is sharp, humorless. “It’s in my name Yen. Merigold. A common flower. Pretty for a season. Easily plucked. Easily discarded.” She rolls away from the raven-haired sorceress, settling into the mattress with a sigh. Yennefer holds her close, kissing the back of her neck, her shoulder blades, the back of her ear. She doesn’t know what to say. She knows whatever she says will feel hollow, a weak attempt to soften the words Triss just said. But she can’t let her lover fall asleep with the harsh words, words she believes to be true, ringing in her head as she starts to drift. Yennefer presses her forehead into Triss’ spine and the redhead squeezes her hand. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I ruined our rather pleasant evening,” she whispers. 

“I asked.”

Triss hums to herself. “Yes, you did.” She kisses the back of Yennefer’s hand. “You’re the first to ever do that. So thank you for that small grace.” 

Triss’ past lovers. What fools they were. Leaving the redhead seconds after their release, using her for nothing more than regular, casual sex. They missed out on the afterglow, the serene moments that immediately followed sex, when the redhead was exhausted, only having strength to caress the person next to her in bed. There were her soft kisses, no more than her lips gently brushing against exposed skin as she grew sleepier and sleepier. And the soft sounds she made as she snuggled into Yennefer. The sex was amazing (truly the best Yennefer had experienced in a while), but it was the aftercare that she most enjoyed, the moments of gentleness and vulnerablity between the two woman that eased her and lulled her to sleep. How could anyone willingly leave before that?

Tonight it’s Yennefer’s turn to provide the aftercare, nipping and kissing Triss’s skin, tracing irregular shapes in her stomach, nuzzling against the back of her ear and inhaling the redhead’s natural, floral scent. She pours everything into her touches, finding her words inadequate right now. Triss was far more than common. After their month together, Yennefer couldn’t imagine willingly discarding the woman. And she prayed that their ‘season’ never ended. She wanted Triss in her bed and near her side; she didn’t dare dream of a moment when they would need to part. 

She continued to kiss along the woman’s jaw even after Triss had fallen asleep, tuckered under Yennefer’s arm, her pale hand wrapped loosely around the raven-haired woman’s wrist. She buries her face in those fiery red locks. Her lips are close to Triss’ ear and in the dark and quiet of the room, Yennefer builds up her courage. 

“I love marigolds,” she whispers. “I’m in love with marigolds.” 

A soft snore is the only response she receives. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> When I came home from work, I decided to write something quick and (bitter)sweet for the holiday. I hope you guys enjoyed it and hopefully it doesn't end on too sour of a note. Poor Triss! But I think Yen is going to do more to show how much she values our favorite fire sorceress. I thought about leaving this chapter on another cliffhanger, but I liked how it ended. I think they needed that moment. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued support! I hope to continue to do right by everyone! The next chapter will be up soon and I'm really excited for it! ;)


	6. The Nighttime Intruder

Yennefer expected to rise with the first light of a new day, gently being pulled from her dreamless sleep with Triss still wrapped snugly in her arms. Their morning would start like usual. Kissing and caressing each other before they leave the bed to eat breakfast. A peaceful start to their day. 

But both she and the redhead are jolted awake in the middle of night by the sound of glass shattering, closely followed by Clarrisa’s shriek coming from the end of the hall. The sorceresses jump out of bed, Triss igniting a flame in her right hand. 

“What was that?” she whispers. 

Yennefer shrugs, groping in the dim light for something to pull over her head. She finds a shirt and pants and slips into them, before finding and tossing some clothes for Triss to wear. “Wait here. I’ll go and check.”

The fire goes out as the redhead dresses. The flame reappears as soon as she’s done. Yennefer moves to the bedroom door and feels the magical warmth as the other woman stands beside her. She smiles to herself and slowly pushes the door open. Clarissa’s shrieks are louder, though Ciri’s door is still shut and the two women hear the witcher try to calm the child. 

“Clarissa?” a strange voice calls. Both women stiffen in the hall, listening as a pair of feet pound up the stairs to the top landing. They lock eyes in the dark, both nodding, silently communicating to launch a spell at whatever comes their way. The sorceresses ready themselves as a small, shadowy body appears a few feet away. Triss brings her hand forward, just as Yennefer starts a stunning spell. But the body turns and faces them, grimacing at the sight of the towering women. 

Yennefer is the first to quit her spell, staring wide-eyed at the small child before them. It’s hard to make out with only Triss’ flame as the source of light, but the girl could be no more than eight or nine. The young girl takes in their appearance, frowns though it gives way to a sneer. 

“Where’s my sister?” she calls. 

“Sister?” Triss asks, lowering her hand. 

The door behind the girl opens and Yennefer sees the glint of steel. “Ciri wait!” she says as the door swings open and the young ashen-haired girl raises her sword. Clarissa continues to scream somewhere in the bedroom and the young intruder spins around, staggering back as she sees the weapon hanging in the hand. But Ciri catches herself and lets the weapon fall to her side. 

The intruder releases a breath, then remembers her mission and tries to squeeze by Ciri. The witcher doesn’t move from the doorframe, eyes narrowed, with a deep frown as she takes in the small girl. 

Yennefer waves a hand and the hall is illuminated by the sconces on the wall. “What are you doing here? Who even are you?” she asks, stepping towards the girl. That’s when she notices the droplets of blood and the tiny, bloodied hand that the girl clutches to her chest. It leaves a red bloom on her shirt. She’s dressed in worn clothing, patches of mismatching fabric sewn into the shirt and pants to cover any holes. Her black hair is thick and unruly from neglect or poor brushing habits, Yennefer can’t tell. And despite the distance between them, she catches whiffs of the girl’s scent, mildy, offensive, a variety of smells that only comes from living in a small space with too many other people. 

Yennefer figures the girl is an orphan, likely from the orphanage in town. She sees the similarities with Clarrisa: deep brown eyes, thick lips, a deep, rich tan. 

“Emoria?” she guesses.

The girl’s eyes go wide and she gasps. 

“What are you doing here?” Triss asks.

In a small voice, the girl says, “I want to see my sister.” She looks down at the hand pressed against her body and both sorceresses take a step forward, expecting the girl to protest. But she doesn’t. Her eyes droop, she struggles to lift her head and she opens and closes her mouth several times. When she takes a small step, her legs wobble, give way and she starts to fall. Ciri darts a hand forward, catching the girl by the scruff of her shirt, which rips from the force of it all. 

“Shit,” the witcher says. 

Yennefer kneels in front of Emoria and gently takes the injured arm in her hands, examining it. The cut was deep, though not life-threatening. Likely, the adrenaline from early left her system completely exhausting her. Yennefer looks at Triss and asks if she can check on the baby. 

“I’ll patch her up,” the raven-haired woman says, standing and lifting the girl in her arms. The child is lite in her arms, skinny from being extremely underfed and Yennefer has no trouble carrying the girl. 

Triss nods and slips into Ciri’s room to quiet Clarissa. Ciri hovers, unsure of where she’s most needed. 

“Go fetch a medical kit,” Yennefer says, carrying Emoria into Triss’ old room. Ciri disappears downstairs, her sword tapping against each step. The raven-haired sorceress scans the bedroom, making sure it is clean and free of any items she and Triss used during their time together. She lays the girl gently in the bed and rolls up the girl’s sleeve to her elbow. The cut runs from the back of her wrist down to the crook of her elbow. It was a clean slice, likely from when the girl broke whatever it was that shattered and woke everyone. Yennefer guesses it was a window and makes a note to get it repaired later that day. 

She pours water in a basin and dips a cloth in the water, cleaning away the blood smeared on the girl’s skin. She starts at the outer edge, clearing away the drying blood and inching closer to the actual injury. The water is tinged pink after dipping the rag in the basin a second time. Yennefer thinks it’s miraculous Emoria didn’t fatally injure herself during her breakin. 

Yennefer rings the water out one final time and sets both the rag and basin on the floor. Ciri returns by then, carrying a wooden box with Yenenfer’s medical supplies inside and places it on the bed. 

Before doing anything else, the sorceress pressed two fingers to Emoria’s temple, her fingers glow white and the girl sighs as she slips into a deep sleep. Ciri perches on the edge of the bed, watching with rapt attention as Yennefer threads a needle, pours antiseptic cleaning fluid on another cloth and starts to work. The sorceress is quick, efficient in her work, her hands almost a blur as she thoroughly disinfects the injury, stitches it closed and wraps it in cotton bandage. She knows the girl wouldn’t rouse during the procedure, but Yennefer was afraid the pain would seep into her dreams causing her to toss and turn. When she reaches the end of the cut, she ties a tiny bow and cuts the remaining thread. The two women don’t speak until Yennefer is finished. 

“What should we do?” Ciri asks. 

Yennefer smooths down a strand of black hair from the girl’s face, already thinking about how best to tackle the hair. “We’ll send for the headmistress in the morning.” She packs away her supplies just as Triss steps in with a calm Clarissa in her arms. “No sense in waking up anymore people.” 

Yennefer places a quilt on top of Emoria, tucking her in for the night. Ciri yawns into her hand and the raven-haired sorceress smiles, touching her cheek. 

“Let’s all go back to bed,” she suggests. 

“What about the girl?” Ciri asks.

“She’ll be fine. I put her under a spell. She won’t wake until later in the morning.” 

Before leaving the room, Yenenfer builds a small fire to warm the room for the rest of the night. The door is left ajar they all exit into the hall. Ciri reaches for the baby, which Triss gives after a brief moment of hesitation. She wishes the two sorceresses good night and walks back to her room, nuzzling her face with the baby’s. The two women watch for a second, leaning close to each other. Then Triss winds her fingers with Yennefer’s, pulling them back to the main bedroom and the bed that waits for them. 

They pull back the covers, lay facing each other and sigh as they sink into the mattress. 

“Think we’ll have any more surprises tonight,” the redhead whispers, rubbing her lover’s shoulder. 

“Gods I hope not.” 

Triss hums in agreement. “Though I don’t mind the intrusions.”

Yennefer didn’t mind either. A part of her even welcomed them. She wondered what it would be like to wake to the sound of tiny feet pitter-pattering across the floor as children shuffled down the stairs. She remembered the nights when Ciri climbed into bed and the two of them pressed close together to ward off their individual nightmares. She’d give almost anything to experience that once more. 

But she reminds herself that this is all temporary. Emoria would go back to the orphanage in the morning after they all sat for breakfast. And Clarissa would follow her sister in a few days once she had fully recovered. Yennefer couldn’t get attached to these children. 

She closes her eyes as Triss caresses her cheek and leans in for a chaste, kiss on her lips. The two women fall asleep once again wrapped in each other arms, sharing the same intimate air, their faces separated by mere inches. And after a long, emotionally winding day everyone in the home settles for good, sleeping in preparation for whatever adventures awaits them when the first rays of sunlight slip over the horizon. 

Yennefer is the first to wake in the morning, like usual. She lays in bed, growing more alert as time goes on. It’s warm in Triss’s arms, which are wrapped snugly around Yennefer’s waist and shoulders. And it requires patience, agility and self-discipline as she peels herself free of the embrace. She’s nearly free, when the redhead whines and tightens her hold. 

“I need to start breakfast,” the raven-haired woman whispers, smiling at the woman across from her. She places butterfly kisses on Triss’ jaw and neck, which doesn’t help her cause. 

“Stay a while longer.” 

It’s a tempting offer and if they were home alone, she’d give in, settling back in her lover’s arms so they could sleep for hours longer. But there’s an injured child in one room and a mildly sick baby in the other room. Plus a constantly hungry witcher. Triss realizes this eventually, loosening her hold on Yennefer. 

The raven-haired woman places one final kiss on her lover’s jaw. “You can touch me later,” she whispers, grinning at Triss’ shiver. “Tonight, perhaps.” And she slides off the bed before the woman can reach for her again. She throws on her cotton robe, tying it tight around her waist. The redhead sits up in bed, her eyes raking over Yennefer’s body, her lips parted slightly. It affects Yennefer and she now wishes to climb back in bed again, this time to touch Triss for hours on end. But again she reminds herself she needs to prepare breakfast for the household. 

“Come down in an hour,” Yennefer says. 

Triss whines and flops back on the mattress and the raven-haired woman laughs as she slips out into the hallway. She checks on Emoria. The girl lays on her side, softly snoring. The fire died down overnight and Yennefer tosses in several logs. The flames come back to life, warming the room once more. She’s careful as she checks the wound, happy that the swelling had reduced and it didn’t appear infected. She covers it once more, making a mental note to change the bandaging after they eat. She leaves the door cracked behind her and walks to the bedroom at the end of the hall. 

Ciri and Clarissa are both awake. The baby lays on her back, giggling and reaching for the finger that wiggles in the air. Ciri’s elbow is propped on a pillow and her cheek rests in the palm of her hand. 

“Morning Yen.”

“Morning. Surprised you’re up.”

“Someone was fussy.” Ciri tickles the baby’s stomach, giggling to herself. “We’ve only been up for a few minutes.”

“Do you want me to take her?”

“No, I have her.”

Yennefer puts her weight on her back leg. “Very well. I’m starting breakfast now.” 

Ciri hums and says she will be down in a few. 

There’s a breeze on the lower level. Yennefer follows it, discovering that indeed Emoria shattered a window when she broke into the house. She finds the busted window, a rough rock and glass shards in the sitting room. The pieces catch rays of sunlight, glittering on the rug next to the sofa. Squinting, she sees a piece of cloth that got snagged on the broken pieces of glass. She sighs, cleaning away the mess with a simple spell and conjures a quilt to cover the window. Once she’s done, she goes into the kitchen and starts on a large breakfast. Eggs. Thick cuts of ham and bacon. Fried bread. Strongly brewed tea to wake the adults up. She makes a small pot of oatmeal and slices an apple for Clarissa to eat, the last item for their meal. 

There are footsteps on the stairs by the time she pulls out dishes, silverware and glasses to drink from. Triss holds the baby now, puckering her lips and making goofy faces to get the girl to laugh. Yennefer watches with a small smile and curses the gods for making this hard. She doesn’t want to get attached. Can’t get attached to this little girl only to have her heart broken in a few short days. Yet every time she sees the baby or watches as she plays with Triss or Ciri, Yennefer feels herself growing fonder of the girl. And she’s a quiet, calm child. She would be easy to raise, fitting seamlessly in the lives of the two sorceresses and the young witcher. Even when Ciri returned to her job and sporadic visits, Yennefer and Triss could bring the girl up on their own, teaching her the intricacies of how to be a girl and a woman in this world. Makeup. Proper fashion. Romance. All the topics Yennefer once covered (to varying success) with Ciri and she’d have the chance to try again. This time with a partner who was as well-versed in the world as she was. 

They would outgrow the home eventually, especially with Emoria added to the fold. But Yennefer had the money and resources to afford an addition, plus room for a proper garden and space for the girls to frolic and play. It was all coming together nicely in her mind. It would be so easy. Just a conversation with the orphanage’s headmistress and the girls would have a permanent space in Yennefer’s home. 

She catches Triss staring at her and wonders if she’s been caught in her daydream. The redhead smiles and nods slowly. 

_ Are you adverse to the idea _ ? Yennefer thinks. 

Triss’ voices rings in her mind.  _ No. Not in the slightest.  _ She spoons oatmeal into a bowl and places several apple slices on top. 

Yennefer busies herself by plating food for the redhead to enjoy.  _ Are you certain? You’ve never mentioned motherhood before. I thought I was the outlier in the group.  _

_ Me. You. Two girls, one a bit more well-mannered than the other. And Ciri to act as a big sister and nanny when we need a break. Sounds nice. Fun even. We’ve faced worse challenges.  _

The raven-haired sorceress places the food in front of her lover and touches the top of the baby’s head. The curls are like satin against her palm. Ciri sits on the counter, launching into her food with her usual morning vigor and Yennefer holds back a laugh. 

Triss brushes her hand against the other woman’s, her smile softening.  _ Let’s think about it at least _ . Clarissa opens her mouth and chomps down on the first spoonful of oatmeal. Pieces of it cover her cheeks and Triss cleans it with a cloth. 

_ Sure, I’d like that _ , Yennefer thinks.

A knock on the front door breaks the serenity of the morning. Ciri hops of the counter to go answer it as Yennefer prepares her own plate. 

“The mistress from the orphanage is here,” the witcher announces. The elderly Mistress Granger follows Ciri, but stays in the hallway. Underneath the woman’s traveling clothing, Yennefer catches a glimpse of a simple dress, dyed green that’s lost its luster over the years. A checked bandana covers her grey hair and her cheeks are pink from the cold. 

“I apologize for this early call, but I’ve lost a child and I suspect she’s here.”

Triss nods. “Emoria made quite the impression last night,” she says with a teasing smile. “But she’s upstairs resting. She injured herself getting in.”

“And the bandages need to be changed,” Yennefer adds. “We planned on escorting her back after she ate.” 

The old woman sniffs the air. “Yes, I imagine she’d love a warm meal before returning.” Yennefer detects something in the woman’s tone, but can’t quite pinpoint the exact emotion. She decides not to dwell on it. 

“Would you like breakfast?” Triss asks. 

“No, I’ve already eaten,” Mistress Granger says. She tightens her cloak around her shoulders. “I will return later to retrieve Emoria. Thank you for extending your hospitality to her.” 

Ciri tilts her head, listening to something the other women can’t quite hear. She sets her plate to the side and slides off the counter. Yennefer watches her. Then she hears it, the soft shutting of a door followed by the heaviness of a lock being set in place. Ciri races up the steps, taking them two at a time. Yennefer follows after her and when she reaches the top step, she sees the young woman stepping back to slam into the door. 

“Don’t!” the sorceress says. She already has to replace a window and would like to keep the integrity of her home relatively intact. If she and Triss do go down the route of motherhood with these two girls (an idea she is now  _ seriously  _ reconsidering), she imagines these antics will be a common occurrence for the foreseeable future. She hates to think of how much money she will spend repairing the different parts of her home. 

Yennefer holds her hand inches from the door and it unlocks from her spell. She opens the door and is unsurprised, though annoyed, at what awaits her inside the room. The bed is empty, the quilt thrown carelessly on the floor. The curtains flutter in the air as a breeze comes through the open window. 

The sorceress sighs, feeling a mild headache coming on. “Gods dammit.”

Ciri walks in the room and shuts the window. “Well, at least she didn’t break anymore glass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> Sorry if these new chapters seem to take longer and longer to post. I'm working on a couple of different projects at once and sometimes lose track of when I've last updated this fic. But like I always promise, I will see this through to the end and I hope you all stick around for the conclusion. 
> 
> I think these past 3 chapters have been pretty slow and quiet. But Emoria is here to change all of that! She and Yennefer both possess strong personalities, so expect some tension between them (while Clarissa and Triss try to find ways to defuse the situation). 
> 
> As always thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. I know I don't respond to comments often, but I love reading what you have to say! Until the next chapter, stay safe, drink lots of water, be kind to yourself and keep being awesome!


	7. The Search

They spent the better part of the morning searching the surrounding streets for Emoria, but the girl was nowhere to be found. By the time Yennefer returned home, her headache was painful and nearly blinding. She staggers through the front door and lean against it, exhaling and bringing a hand to her forehead. 

“Did you find her?” Triss stands at the end of the entryway, holding Clarissa against her hip. 

“No,” Yennefer says, peeling herself from the door. “Ciri is still looking. And I slipped some coins in a guard’s hand to get them to search harder.” Her stomach growls and she goes into the kitchen, leaving her cloak in a pool near the front door. A plate sits on the counter and Yennefer pulls the cloth covering it. The food is cold, but the sorceress doesn’t care. 

“Do you want tea or coffee or something warm?” 

Yennefer shakes her head and plops down on a stool at the counter, propping her elbows on the top. 

Triss walks from one end of the kitchen to the other, bouncing the baby on her hip as the girl starts to fuss. “Where could she have gone? It wasn’t like she had a huge start. Vengerburg is only so big.” Clarissa twists her face and some tears start to fall. 

“Triss?”

“Yes?”

Yennefer points at the baby. “Calm down. You’re frightening her.”

“Sorry,” the redhead says, wiping at Clarissa’s eyes. “I’m just worried.”

“I know,” Yennefer says. “So I am. But she’ll show up. There’s no use in working ourselves up. Between Ciri and the guards, I have no doubt Emoria will found.” She takes a bite of eggs and compliments herself. She’s still growing accustomed to cooking for several people and her skills are improving. 

Triss sighs and begins pacing again. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “And if she doesn’t? What if something happens to her? She’s injured and her dressing needs to be changed. What if it gets infected? Or reopens? Gods, Yen so much could happen.” 

Clarissa sucks in air and starts to cry, her wails filling the room. The sound worsens Yennefer’s headache. She rises to her feet, leaving the rest of her meal to grow colder and takes the baby from her lover, bouncing her and getting her to quiet. She looks into Triss’ blue eyes with a sad smile. 

“It’ll be okay. I promise,” she says over the baby’s cries. “I’ll go back out there when I can. You’re right, Vengerburg isn’t huge. She’s likely holed up somewhere and will crawl out when she’s ready.” 

“I feel silly. I’m so emotional and I don’t even know these kids.” 

Yennefer places a hand on Triss’ shoulder, squeezes and massages up to the back of her neck. “It’s not silly,” she whispers. “It’s okay. Why don’t you go lay down?

Triss closes her eyes and leans into the touch. She inhales and releases it slowly. When she opens her eyes again, she appears calmer and in control of her emotions. She nods. 

“That sounds good,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. We’ve had a tough couple of hours.”

Triss leans forward, burying her face under Yennefer’s neck. She breathes warm air against the raven-haired woman’s skin. “Only a few hours of motherhood and I’m already exhausted.”

“Hm. I know the feeling.” 

The redhead chuckles and pulls away, leaning up for a quick kiss. “At least we don’t have to do it alone.” They kiss again, breaking apart when Clarissa reaches and tries to grab at their lips. The women chuckle and Yennefer leans over to peck the child on her cheek. 

They walk into the hallway and before climbing the stairs, Triss reaches for the baby, intending to put her down for a nap. But Yennefer twists away and says she’ll watch Clarissa until the redhead wakes. 

“Get some rest,” Yennefer says. She stands at the bottom of the stairs and watches until Triss rounds the corner and she hears their bedroom door open and shut. She turns to Clarissa and bounces the baby. 

“It’s me and you now. We should rest as well.” 

They go to the sitting room and Yennefer retrieves the baby’s bassinet, setting her in it while the sorceress prepares a fire. She carries the carrier to the sofa, sits with a long sigh and makes sure Clarissa is warm and secure before leaning back and shutting her eyes. 

This was all going wrong. She never expected it to be easy. Rearing Ciri taught Yennefer that children were naturally chaotic and subject to whatever base whims popped into their thoughts. And the ashen-haired girl gave Yennefer plenty of causes to worry. But somehow this felt different. 

“I’m exhausted,” she says to herself. Clarissa gurgles next to her and Yennefer shifts so she can look at the child. “I bet you’re tired too, hm?”

The baby blinks and slowly smiles. 

“Your sister is a handful,” the sorceress says, chuckling. She glances at the still shattered window, but has no energy to call on someone to repair it. She decides to leave it for another day. Her eyes slide towards the baby once again and she hovers a hand in the air. Clarissa reaches up, latching onto two of Yennefer’s fingers and pulls them to her mouth. The sorceress grimaces at the spittle, but doesn’t pull her hand free. 

This is what she imagined it would be like. Easy mornings with a baby after a meal. Triss could rest or work in her shop while Yennefer and Clarissa lounged somewhere, popping in to check on the redhead. On sunny days, they could go for walks through the city to shop or catch a show, do something to get fresh air. 

“It could still happen,” Yennefer says. “Once we located Emoria.”

The sorceress tried to appear calm and collected when she spoke to the redhead, but truthfully she was just as nervous for the girl’s wellbeing as Triss had been. When she and Ciri discovered the empty room, she raced to her room and pulled on proper clothing. She explained the situation to Mistress Granger and Triss as she swirled into her cloak, spun on her heels and headed out the door with the promise of locating the girl. She and Ciri broke apart immediately, each tackling a different section of the town. 

Yennefer searched the shops, alleys and pubs of the lower district, working her way closer and closer to the orphanage. She stopped by the actual building, a multi-storied, run down place with broken shingles and holes in the side. Briefly, Yennefer wondered how a building housing children wasn’t condemned or kept in better conditions. But she told herself to focus on locating Emoria. 

She retraced her steps, thinking she may have missed some nooks or corners. But still nothing. As she made her way back to her home, she spotted her reflection in a window, her black hair unruly on her head. She looked like she just emerged from battle. Yennefer took some time to smooth down her hari, wipe away any smeared makeup and straighten her clothes. She couldn’t let Triss see how frantic and worried she felt. She had to be in control of this. She told herself it wasn’t like last time with Ciri. No one was hunting Emoria. No one was threatening to sell her off, imprison her or worse. This was a normal instance of a child running away from authority, hiding away until they deemed it safe to come out. 

Taking several deep breaths, she walked back to her home and promised to stay calm. For Triss’ sake. And for Ciri and Clarissa. And Emoria. Yennefer could handle this. 

Her leg bounced against the floor and she chewed her bottom lip. She thought she understood why Triss felt the need to pace, as her own body was telling her to get up and move around. Clarissa sat quietly, watching Yennefer and the sorceress placed a hand on her leg to still it. She didn’t want Triss to wake up. 

Forcing herself to rest, Yennefer nestles further into the sofa’s cushion and shuts her eyes. Clarissa continued to use her hand as a teething device and she made a mental note to purchase toys for the baby when this was all behind them. She dozed off. For an hour. Maybe a few minutes. She couldn’t say. But she’s aware of someone walking down the hall, calling for her. Clarissa is fast asleep in the bassinet, her tiny hands gripping Yennefer’s thumb and pointer finger. 

“Yen?”

“In here, Ciri,” she says, keeping her voice low. Pulling her hand free is a difficult task and she’s amazed at Clarissa’s strength. The baby stirs, but thankfully remains sleeping. 

Ciri appears in the doorframe, pulling off her coat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Yennefer stretches her neck and wipes her hand on her pants. “It’s fine,” she says, glancing out the window. It’s well past midday, close to two or three by her guess. “Did you find her?”

“No, I’m sorry.” The witcher leans against the wall facing Yennefer and slides down to the floor. “She’s done this before. I struggled to pick up her trail. The guards are still looking but…”

Yennefer hums. “They’ll want more coin soon.” She sighs and buries her face in her hands again. God how horrible this was all going. 

“She’ll turn up,” Ciri says. 

“I know. Still, I worry.” She sighs again, reminding herself to stay strong. She had to be the one everyone could lean on now. “I’ll go start dinner now. Any requests?”

Ciri shakes her head and takes Yennefer’s spot on the sofa. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “I won’t wake her.” 

“I appreciate it.” 

Yennefer rolls up her sleeves and lays out ingredients for the meal. She’s in the middle of peeling potatoes when she feels a warm set of arms around her waist and draw her back. Triss sweeps hair away, exposing her long neck and places a series of small kisses from top to bottom. 

“You’re amazing,” she whispers, resting her forehead against Yennefer’s neck. “The nap helped tremendously. I can make dinner if you want. I’ve been so useless these past few hours.” 

Yennefer sets down the knife and spins to look into her lover’s arms. “You’ve done plenty.”

“Yeah, worked myself up to the point of exhaustion. I’m sure that’s so helpful,” she says, chuckling. But the raven-haired woman folds her arms, frowning. “Sorry. Sorry. Just let me do something, okay?”

“Fine,” Yennefer says, picking a piece of lint from the redhead’s shirt. She watches as it falls to the floor. “Finish peeling the potatoes. I’ll start on the steak.”

“Yes ma’am,” she says leaning in for a kiss. They break apart and Triss picks up where Yennefer’s left off. The kitchen is large, with plenty of space for them to work in peace. But the two women find reasons to bump into each other with a small laugh or to reach out and touch each other. It feels like the earliest part of their relationship and it reminds Yennefer why she wants all of this to work. 

The two women turn as Ciri, with Clarissa on her hip, comes into the room. They eat, everyone listening out for a knock on the door that never comes. Yennefer tries to keep the mood light, joking often and keeping everyone’s plate full. When they’re done, she and Triss take Clarissa upstairs to bathe her, while Ciri washes the dishes. The witcher heads back out to resume the search, but they all silently agree Emoria won’t turn up tonight. 

Triss scoops up warm water in her palm and pours it over Clarissa’s head and the baby giggles and slaps the water, sending droplets up in the air. “Why do you think she ran?” 

Yennefer readjusts her hold on the child, smiling as water lands on her face. “Scared, most likely. How would you feel if you woke up in a strange home?”

“I guess,” Triss says, furrowing her eyebrows. “Still, she could have come down the stairs. She seemed so determined to find her sister and then she just slips away in the morning.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to go back to the orphanage.” Yennefer thinks about the building now. The holes in the sides. The thin windows that shook as she passed by. She didn’t try the door, but imagined it would give way easily with the slightest push. “It’s shitty to say the least. No wonder Clarissa caught this cold.” 

Triss is silent as she pours more water down the baby, clearing off the remaining soap. She grabs the towel and Yennefer passes Clarissa over to be dried off. The redhead stands, holding the baby to her chest, using the towel to rub small circles on the girl's skin and clear away the lingering moisture. Yennefer sits on her knees, watching with the softest smile. Triss works, unaware that she’s being observed. She sets the baby on their bed, giggling and talking in a teasing voice to Clarissa. She grasps the baby by her ankles and wiggle them in the air. The girl laughs, her entire body shaking from the sound and she flaps her hands in the air which only makes Triss giggle that much more. She rubs lotion into the baby’s skin and dresses her in another cotton outfit. Spinning on her heel, she sees Yennefer watching her and blushes. 

“What?” she says, drawing into herself. 

She loves Triss. Gods, how she loves this woman. She knows it’s not a new realization. She’s felt it for weeks. But witnessing her with this child, caring for her with her entire being, worrying over Emoria, a child she doesn’t know, all of it makes Yennefer realize how she’s in gentle, caring hands now. 

Finally. 

Yennefer stands and smooths down her skirt. “Nothing. Just thinking,” she says. 

Triss narrows her eyes with a smile. “Liar.”

The raven-haired woman chuckles and pulls both the redhead and baby into her arms, hugging them close. She inhales the soft, lavender scent of Clarissa’s soap and the natural, fiery scent of Triss. They should clash and yet Yennefer is comforted by it. She never wants to forget them. She stoops, kissing Clarissa on the head, before capturing Triss’ lips in a quick kiss. 

They hear the front door open. Ciri returns from her search and the lack of extra voices is telling. Yennefer tries not to worry. She holds her lover and the child closer to her, letting her chin rest on top of Triss’ head and promises herself that it will all work out. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept meaning to say this, but I have little firsthand knowledge on how to care for and entertain babies. So if I write something about Clarissa and it doesn't seem right, let me know. I had to look up several times what children her age should be able to do. I think Emoria will be a little easier to write, but I apologize if it seems like Clarissa only gurgles, spits up or eats all the time. Still, she somehow seems to remain the star of this story haha. (I love that everyone dotes on her!)
> 
> Thank you for your continued support of this story! I love adding new chapters and seeing the response. I also love that this story is receiving so many kudos. Hopefully this brings you all some happiness in these (somewhat) confusing and scary times. 
> 
> As always, be safe, drink lots of water, wash your hands often, and have an amazing day/week!


	8. A Return

Yennefer starts the night in bed, embracing Triss. But when she’s certain the redhead is fast asleep, she slips from behind the woman, tucking the covers to keep the woman warm and she leaves the room. She didn’t want to tell Triss or Ciri of her prediction or plan. If it all came crashing down on her, she didn’t want the two women to feel the sudden deflation of hope fleeing their hearts. No, Yennefer would endure this on her own and pray to the gods it worked in her favor.

She successfully tiptoes down the stairs and stops in the kitchen to pour a glass of wine to nurse while she waits. It’s close to eleven and she imagines Emoria will try to sneak in again a little after midnight. She settles on the plush sofa, facing the shattered window. Thank the gods she didn’t send for someone to repair it. And she keeps vigilant watch, her lilac eyes never straying from the shattered glass, even as the wine starts to put her to sleep. But she dozes her and there, jerking awake when her head falls forward. 

And it’s close to one when a small hand reaches through the shattered windowpane, unlocking the latch and sliding up the lower portion. A small, shadowy body slithers through the opening, landing on its feet and exhaling. 

“Caught you,” Yennefer says sitting straighter in her chair. She waves a hand and a tiny flame dances to life on a candlewick. 

Emoria jumps back, her hand flying to her chest. “You scared me.” 

“And  _ you  _ broke my window and ran away earlier. We’ve had a long day trying to find you.” She didn’t mean to sound accusatory. She wanted to convince the girl that she was in a safe space now, that there was no danger to her. In truth, Yennefer wasn’t angry. Not really. Worried, sure. Tired with aching feet, most definitely. But not angry. In fact, now that she laid eyes on the girl, the sorceress felt relieved knowing nothing happened to her. 

The girl looks down at her feet. “I didn’t want to go back to the orphanage,” she whispers. 

“Understandable.”

“You were going to send me back.”

Yennefer nods. “It’s your home.” For now, she adds mentally. But she can’t share that with the girl for fear that it may not come true. Though it’s all Yennefer wishes for. 

Emoria looks up with a sharp glare. “I’ll never call it that.”

“Call it whatever you like,” the sorceress says, not missing a beat. “But it’s where you’re meant to be.”

“Not without Clarissa.” She steps towards the hallway, but stills when she hears Yennefer sigh. The woman stands, stretching her arms in the air. The chair was a lot more uncomfortable than she expected. She’d need to get a new one eventually. Emoria watches her the entire time, folding her arms across her chest and placing all of her weight on her back leg. A dark brown cloak protects her from the cold and the tail is bathed in mud and grime. It would go into the fire as soon as Yennefer got her hands on it. While the girl and Ciri were remarkably different, physically speaking, she possessed the same stubborn, defiant aura that the young witcher had in her youth. Yennefer was certain this was divine retribution for the many scares and near heart attacks she gave Tissaia while studying at Aretuza. 

“Your sister, like most everyone else in the house is asleep,” she says. “And she’s still ill. She’s not leaving anytime soon.”

Emoria makes a fist and grits her teeth. Yennefer can see her bracing to run through the house. 

“Have you eaten?” she asks, hoping to distract the girl. 

After some time, Emoria answers. “No.” And her stomach growls, loud and clear for Yennefer to hear. 

“We have plenty leftover from dinner. Would you like some?”

“I can’t pay you,” Emoria says, narrowing her eyes and frowning. 

“No need for an exchange in coin.” 

“I have  _ nothing _ to give you.”

Yennefer doesn’t doubt that, but keeps the thought to herself. “And I look for nothing from you. I simply wish to make sure you’re fed before you go off to bed. Upstairs,”she adds when she sees the girl inch towards the window. 

Emoria is quiet for a moment as she thinks. Absentmindedly, she rubs the bandages still wrapped around her arm. They needed to be changed. Soon. But Yennefer wouldn’t press the issue until she made the girl feel comfortable. 

“What are the leftovers?” she finally asks. 

Yennefer smiles and motions for the girl to follow her out of the room and into the kitchen. Emoria takes a stool at the counter, her brown eyes honed on the sorceress’ back as she sets a steak and half a potato on a plate. Using magic, she draws the cold from the food until a thin plume of smoke wafts in the air. Emoria launches into the meal as soon as it’s placed in front of her, using her hands to tear the meat from the bone. By the time Yennefer returns with tea for the girl to drink, the food is nearly gone. 

“Slow down,” she says. “We have plenty.”

Emoria stares at her, but makes a show of eating slowly, exaggerating each chew. Yennefer fights the urge to suck her teeth or swear under her breath. She understands why the girl is acting defensive and knows it would do little good to lose her patience right now. She pours half a glass of wine and hopes it will calm her down. 

“How’s your arm doing?”

The girl brings it to her chest. “Fine.”

“Let me see. You don’t want it to get infected.”

“It only hurts a little.”

“It shouldn’t hurt at all.”

She lays her hand, palm up, on the counter and waits. Reluctantly and with a deep sigh, Emoria extends her arm to be examined. There’s swelling and as she peels back the bandages, Yennefer sees that it’s not healing correctly.  _ Dammit _ . The wound had reopened, the blood staining the first layer of gauze. 

“Is it bad?” Worry creeps into the girl’s voice and she ignores what little remains of her meal. She looks down at her arm, up to Yennefer’s face and back down again as if she can see what concerns the woman. 

“Hm. It’s manageable. Just…” She pauses and waits for the girl to look at her once more. “You shouldn’t have run away. The streets are filthy. There’s no telling what could have seeped through the bandages. Do you feel feverish? Dizzy? Confused?” The girl shakes her head. That was good at least. If anything infected the injury, it was still in the early stages and easy enough to clear away. 

Yennefer tells the girl to finish her food and to wait in the kitchen. Then she leaves, rushing down the hall to her study. She’s mindful of the amount of noise she makes, refusing to wake either Ciri or Triss at this late hour. Her medical supplies are there, near the door and she makes it back to the kitchen in time to see Emoria poke at her arm. 

“Stop that,” she says, smacking the girl’s hand away.

“I was just curious.”

Gods, she was too much like Ciri at that age. And as much as she loved Ciri during their early years, she also experienced some of her worst headaches at that time. 

Emoria watches as Yennefer pulls out different items: thread, a small needle, a metal canister and mostly importantly, fresh gauze and wrappings. The girl worries her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyebrows knit together in the center of her forehead. 

“Let me explain everything,” Yennefer says. Her voice is soft, the softest it's been all evening. Emoria’s eyes are endless brown pools as she gazes at the woman. “First, I’m going to cut and remove the old stitchings. Then, I’ll clean it with some medicine. Once that’s applied, I’ll restitch the wound, cover it with gauze and wrap it snug. It’ll last ten minutes at most.”

“Will it hurt?”

Yennefer pinches dried flower leaves from another canister and spreads it in Emoria’s tea. “Drink this. It’ll numb your body. The most you’ll feel is a dull pinch and maybe a tingle from the medicine. Be brave for me and keep still. I promise this will be quick.” 

“Okay,” the girl says and downs the rest of her drink. 

“And turn away if you feel squeamish.” 

But Emoria never looks away. Not when Yennefer removes the old stitching that’s covered in dried blood. Or when she rubs medicinal cream onto the wound. Her fingers twitch and flex and she grasps at the air as Yennefer closes the wound once more. The sorceress tries to be quick as she promised, focusing on ending the girl’s misery before the numbness wears off. When tears prick Emoria's eyes, Yennefer soothes the girl and whispers it would be over soon. The sorceress is amazed by the girl’s display of bravery. Or maybe it’s an excellent show of bravado.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. 

“Well the worst part is over,” Yennefer says, finishing with the stitching and tying the thread into a small knot. She sets the needle to the side to be cleaned later and presses gauze to Emoria’s skin. When she’s finished, just a few minutes later and packing up her supplies, separating the items that need to be cleaned, Yennefer hears Emoria exhale and yawn. The sorceress tucks everything away in a magical pocket, much too tired to clean anything tonight. 

“Let’s go to bed,” she says, holding back her own yawn. 

Emoria pushes her empty plate away. “I told you, I have no money.” She looks up at Yennefer. Glances away just as quickly and hops off her stool. 

“This isn’t an inn,” the sorceress says. “It’s a home.”

“If you don’t take money now, you’ll come searching for it later. Or pass the bill to Granger.”

This she understands. This mess, this mistrust is something she can navigate. Because Yennefer was once like her. She never took an offering or accepted a show of goodwill. Words were easily broken. Actions were the only things that mattered, though they could be just as complicated and steeped in deception as words. When she and Triss first met, back when they both completed their studies at Aretuza, she couldn’t understand how someone, let alone a fellow sorceress, could be so chipper. Bubbly. Kind. It took years for the redhead to gain Yennefer’s trust, mostly because the raven-haired woman was convinced Triss wanted  _ something _ from her.  (In hindsight, it’s clear what she truly desired.) 

And the redhead had been patient, greeting Yennefer with sweet words and a soft smile whenever their paths crossed. When they were in the same town, she’d invite Yennefer out for dinner and a walk, filling the silence with stories from her travels and times at court. Triss rarely blinked when Yennefer lost her patience or lashed out in fear, hurling insult after insult. “It’s okay Yenna,” she’d whisper, biting back her tears. She was there by the raven-head’s side when her vision was stolen from her post-Sodden, pouring what little magic she still had into the other woman as she ignored her own bleeding injuries. 

Yennefer couldn’t make sense of it. She convinced herself Triss would abandon her or see her for the fraud that she was. She’d see the brokenness, the weakness, the ugliness that magic hid and she’d turn away with a sneer. But it never happened. And over time, she trusted Triss with her secrets, with her tears, with her successes and those few failures. They became close acquaintances, then dear friends. It took a lot of patience and deep conversations. A friendly smile and many whispered apologies. But eventually, the trust became a part of their relationship. 

She needed to tap into that if she wanted to placate Emoria. 

“We’re not going to send any bill. I don’t need any money,” she says. “Besides, you’re a child. And injuried. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why?”

Yennefer couldn’t quite say. There was her desire to bring Emoria and Clarissa into her home, make them a permanent part of this new family she was building. But that would be too strong for the girl. And there was always the chance that it wouldn’t come to fruition. So what could she tell the girl? She settled on being honest.

“Because I know what it’s like to be hurt and have no one to rely on or help you recover. And I know how hard it is to be separated from the people you love.” She thinks about the times she and Ciri were forced to part. Or when she and Triss portaled to different parts of the world. “Your sister is here, resting. I imagine that can’t be easy for you. So, for as long as she’s here, you’re welcome to stay.”

Emoria looks into the hallway, as if she were searching for something. Or someone. Yennefer couldn’t say. 

“This isn’t  _ our _ home,” the girl says. 

“I know. But the spare bed is yours for the night and for however many nights you need it.” 

“Only until Clarissa is better. Then we’re leaving.” Yennefer knows she wasn’t meant to hear this last part. It’s quiet enough to escape the notice of normal humans. 

Then Emoria turns those wide, brown eyes on her, all hostility gone. “Can I see my sister first?”

Yennefer nods. They climb the stairs quietly and the sorceress places a palm against Ciri’s door, opening it. She worries the young witcher would stir and wake from the noise. But her snore tears through the air. She lays on her side, facing the crib that’s next to her bed. Her hand hangs over the edge of the crib as though she fell asleep while playing with the baby. 

Emoria is light on her feet and Yennefer doesn’t even realize she’s moved from the hall until she sees the girl standing next to the crib. She looks down at her sister, with a soft smile and smooths down Clarissa’s blanket. She whispers something, but this time it’s too soft for Yennefer to hear. Then she stoops, kissing the baby’s forehead before rejoining Yennefer, who shuts the door behind them. 

“I have just one request,” the sorceress says as they stand in front of the extra room. 

Emoria folds her arms. “Of course.”

Yennefer holds back a sigh and reminds herself to keep a soft gaze. “Don’t run in the morning. Stay here and give me a day of rest.”

She’s stunned the girl, which she counts as a success. But the shock gives way to a smirk. “Fine,” she says with a drawl. And she steps inside the room without another word, shutting it, but thankfully leaves it unlocked. Yennefer releases a long breath and rolls her shoulders, releasing the tension that’s built in her at the back of her neck. She couldn’t wait to lay besides her lover and fall asleep. 

“Hm...where’d you go?” Triss asks as the bed dips. She runs a hand up Yennefer’s spine and the sorceress sighs, leaning back into the touch. 

“Emoria’s back.” 

“Truly?”

Yennefer nods and climbs under the covers, smiling as the redhead pulls her into her arms. She nuzzles against the side of Triss’ neck, breathing in the smell of her magic. “She crawled back through the window.”

“And her injuries?” 

“I changed her bandages. She’ll be fine.” 

Triss relaxes again and holds Yennefer closer to her chest. The raven-haired woman places soft, sleepy kisses on her lover’s, tracing her jaw with her lips. 

“Thank you,” Yennefer whispers. 

“For what?” 

“For being patient when we first met,” she says. “For trying to see something in me.”

“I had a massive crush on you. Of course, I saw something in you.”

“Still,” Yennefer says, “I was cruel to you and had no reason to be. But you were always there when I needed you.”

Their hands meet under the covers, their fingers tangling and locking together. “You exuded power and confidence. I admired that. And it pushed me to become a powerful sorceress. I wanted to be on your level Yen. But there were other things I admired about you.”

“Such as?”

Triss blushes, looking away with a shy smile. “The way you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating. And there’s the small light in your eyes when you’re fascinated by something. Your kindness was never loud, which I liked. You’d accept a small purse for potions that would sell for much more if you pressed a vendor. And you always had spare coins for beggars and orphans. Plus, you never conducted business without first ensuring all parties were fed.”

Yennefer reaches and tucks a lock of red hair behind the woman’s ear. She draws her into a slow, tender kiss, floored by the idea that Triss watched her with such carefulness, tucking those memories and observations away for another day. 

“Plus there was the thing with Tissaia’s desk,” she whispers into the ravenhair’s lips. 

“Tissaia’s desk?” She couldn’t think of any lasting memory about that desk or the office. They met there often, the three of them, to discuss political affairs or news pertaining to the Brotherhood. 

Triss chews her bottom lip. “I had...fantasies about it. I…” She groans, bringing a hand to her face. “Gods, Yenna I wanted you to bend me over it and do whatever you wanted to me. I don’t know why, but being in that room with you and watching your lips and fingers and the desk was right there, it did things to me.” 

Yennefer’s mouth runs dry. She can almost see it. The two of them touching each other, tugging at whatever clothes separate their bodies, trying to keep their moans and sighs low lest the rectroress walks in and catches them. And the thought of Triss giving her body to Yennefer was beyond arousing. She tucked the idea in the back of her mind. She’d find a way to fulfill the fantasy one day. There were other desks. 

“You should have told me,” she teases. “I would have gladly entertained you.”

Triss’ entire face burns bright with a blush and she chuckles. “I’ll never live that down.”

Yennefer hums. “No, not anytime soon. Though I’ll give you a reprieve for tonight,” she says, yawning. She curls into the redhead’s body, wrapping her arms tight around the woman, purring as Triss runs her hand through her dark locks. 

“Thank the gods. Good night, Yennefer.”

“Hm. Good night. Wake me if you dream of that desk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! How's it going? 
> 
> I'll be honest, all of the news has been really overwhelming and I've struggled to sit and write this chapter. (Or write anything.) I keep asking myself how I can ease some tension and make people feel a bit better despite the constant influx of news. I know this story means a lot to you all and I'm going to do my best to update as often as I can while I stay indoors. And I hope it brings some joy to your day. 
> 
> As always, I hope you all are safe and staying indoors! Find ways to take care of yourselves and take breaks when you need to. And know that you're not alone if you're feeling anxious or overwhelmed. It's okay. Just find ways to remind yourself that it will be okay. 
> 
> I'll do my best to have another chapter (or two) up in the next few days. Now that the gang is all together, things should start to get interesting! Also, I love easily flustered Triss!


	9. Market Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: attempted child abuse. It's a brief moment, but I still wanted to warn people.

Triss jumps in her sleep, waking Yennefer in the morning. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice still laced with sleep. She hugs the redhead, not ready to let her lover go just yet. 

“Yen,” Triss says slowly. “We have a guest.”

“Many.” 

“I mean we have a guest right now. In the bedroom.” 

This shocks the raven-haired woman awake and she looks up at Triss, only to find the woman staring at something, or someone, over her shoulder. She twists onto her back and sees Emoria, standing at the edge of the bed. Her grin is toothy and she rocks on her heels. She’s still dressed in her clothes from the night before, though they’re wrinkled and hang oddly on her body. 

“I’m still here,” she says in a sing-song fashion, her grin widening. 

Yennefer pinches the bridge of her nose, suppressing a groan. Triss props herself up on her elbow and smiles at the girl. “We’re glad to see you this morning,” she says. The covers fall down her body as she sits up further. “Give us a moment. We’ll get breakfast going in a bit.”

Emoria stares, eyes wide as she takes in the redhead. Yennefer sees the faintest blush spreading across the girl’s nose. The raven-haired woman can’t blame the girl. Triss’ kindness can disarm most people. She watches, deciding to stay silent during the exchange. Lacing her fingers behind her head, Yennefer smiles as Triss places a hand flat on her stomach and rubs small circles in the fabric of her chemise. 

“Do you need anything?” Triss asks in a soft voice. 

Emoria grabs her wrist, rubbing two fingers against the bandages. Yennefer frowns, but decides it’s a nervous habit. “No, I’m fine,” she whispers, looking down at her feet. 

“Would you like a bath?”

“N-no.”

Yennefer crinkles her nose. The girl doesn’t reek, though there is an odor to her. One that clings to anyone who doesn’t have steady access to fresh water, scented crystals and soap. She wasn’t judging the girl. As illustrious and prosperous as Vengerberg was, she wasn’t blind to the paupers and beggars who gathered around various corners of the town. She knows that she can’t save them all. Though she wishes she could. 

“What about after breakfast?” Triss asks. 

Emoria looks down at her feet. “Maybe,” she whispers. “I’ll go back to my room now. Sorry for disturbing you.”

“You didn’t,” Triss says through a yawn. “Rest some more and we’ll fetch you in a bit.”

Emoria looks back at the two women lounging in bed, before leaving. Once they’re alone again, Triss sighs and runs a hand through her hair. Yennefer gazes up at her with a soft smile. 

“You make it look so easy,” she muses. 

“What?”

“Kindness.”

Triss blushes and leans in to peck the other woman on the lips. She moans as a hand weaves through her red hair pulling her further down. Yennefer wants to keep her in bed for a while longer. She meant what she said to Emoria last night. She wanted a day of rest and spending a few more hours in Triss’ arms was the best way to begin her day. But the redhead smiles and leans away, whispering that she needed to start on breakfast. And just like that, any illusions of a peaceful, relaxing day are shattered in Yennefer’s mind. Her hand wraps around the woman’s wrist, tugging lightly trying to coax her back under the covers. But Triss laughs as she frees herself. 

“I’ll accompany you,” Yennefer says, rolling out of bed. 

“Yes, there’s no telling what terrors I may encounter during my adventure to the kitchen.” 

Yennefer snatches the robe that’s tossed in her direction, slipping her arms through the sleeves and cinching the belt around her waist. “You jerk.”

When she turns around, Triss is right in front of her. Her cornflower blue eyes roams Yennefer’s face and slowly she smiles as her hand slips around the other woman’s hip. “I appreciate your gallantry,” she whispers into Yennefer’s lips. 

“Triss, breakfast,” she says, though she’s leaning into the kiss. She shivers as the redhead moans into her mouth. Yennefer holds the woman’s waist, sliding her hands down the curve of her lower back before settling on her ass. The redhead smiles as she pulls away and Yennefer groans. 

“Right, breakfast.” She reaches for one of the raven-head’s hands. “Come escort me to the kitchen my lady.” 

Yennefer rolls her eyes, but allows herself to be dragged out of the room. They check in on Emoria who turns away from the light at the door and says nothing to the women. Ciri and Clarissa are fast asleep and the women smile at the baby’s fingers wrapped tight around the young woman’s hand.

Once they’re in the kitchen, Yennefer claims a seat at the counter and watches Triss move about, pulling bowls and ingredients from the many cupboards. The raven-head holds back a yawn and props her cheek in the palm of her hand. Triss plants herself in front of a window, chopping vegetables to use in their omelettes. The early morning sunlight shines through the glass, casting her in a soft halo. 

“Triss?”

“Yes?”

“You look beautiful today.”

Her hand twitches, breaking the rhythm of the knife slicing through the carrots. A blush spreads across her cheeks and Yennefer hopes she never grows tired of that particular image. “Thank you. What do you want?” she asks, resuming her cutting. 

“You.” She starts to swing her legs in the air to keep herself awake. 

Again, the rhythm is broken. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Out of reach. But yes, you are here.” 

The redhead spares a look at her lover, before turning back to her task. Yennefer continues watching Triss work, smiling to herself as the blush doesn’t leave any time soon. She props both elbows on the counter, her smile turning into a grin as she’s struck by a sudden thought. 

“You know,” she says slowly. “There’s a desk in my study. It’s about the same size as Tissaia’s.”

“I will teleport you back to the bedroom.” 

“I’ll go only if you promise to land on top of me.”

Triss places the knife on the counter and reaches for Yennefer’s wrist, dragging her out in the hallway. “Go somewhere and let me cook in peace, please?” She tries not to smile as she says this. She doesn’t want to give Yennefer the satisfaction. But the raven-haired woman can see that her teasing is working. Can hear it in the slight laughter in Triss’ voice. 

“I regret telling you that,” the redhead says. 

“Why? If we’re lovers, then we’re meant to share our most intimate thoughts with each other.” 

“Gods, you’re an incorrigible tease. Go preoccupy yourself until breakfast. Run a bath for Emoria. She’ll need it eventually.”

Yennefer lunges, getting a quick kiss in before Triss holds her at arm's length. “Very well since my presence is _such_ a distraction.” She releases the redhead and makes for the stairs. Her foot lands on the first step and she smiles to herself. Just one more dig, she silently promises. Triss sighs, adjusting her robe and heads back into the kitchen, but stops when Yennefer calls her name. 

“Tell me, were there other parts to this particular fantasy? Did you want me dressed a certain way or…”

“Yennefer!” She says and ducks back into the kitchen. The raven-haired woman chuckles and hops up the stairs. 

“I’ll use my imagination then!” 

Upstairs is still quiet and she hopes she and Triss didn’t accidently wake anyone with their teasing. She carries the empty wooden tub from her room to Emoria’s. The girl sits up in bed, watching silently with her arms crossed her chest. Her eyes widen a fraction as Yennefer opens a window and calls fresh water from a well into the tub. But Emoria’s frown is firmly in place when the sorceress glances in her direction again. 

“I don’t want a bath.”

“Then don’t bathe,” Yennefer says. She winces and backtracks. “You don’t have to do it now.”

“The water will grow cold.”

“It won’t.” She squats at the side, mouthing an enchantment. Steam rises from the water and dissipates in the air. “Use it whenever you like. And don’t worry about clothing,” she says, anticipating the girl’s thoughts. “I have pieces you can wear. Mostly dresses and skirts, though there are some trousers and tunics if you’re more comfortable with those. We’ll shop for other items today or tomorrow.” 

Emoria doesn’t say anything or move from her spot on the bed. She barely looks in Yennefer’s direction or at the tub near the fire mantle. The sorceress thinks this is her cue to leave, so she rises and heads back to the hall. She thinks she hears the girl mutter something, but when she looks over her shoulder Emoria hasn’t moved an inch. Yennefer tells herself this would take time. It’s easy with Clarissa given that she was a baby. So long as her basic needs were met and she received attention (which Ciri made sure she did), then the baby was happy. But Emoria wouldn’t be so easily swayed. 

Yennefer returns to her room and decides to change while waiting for Triss to finish in the kitchen. She pulls on trousers and a loose-fitting blouse, leaving the top two buttons undone. At the last minute, she grabs a leather vest that pushes her cleavage up and pulls her hair into a ponytail. As she finishes applying a lite layer of makeup, Triss calls upstairs that breakfast is ready. 

The redhead stops mid step when she spots Yennefer and her eyes go wide, while she purses her lips. Yennefer grins and pecks her on the cheek. “Thank you for cooking,” she says with a chuckle. Yennefer pries the plate of omelettes from the redhead’s hands, lest she drop it in her stupor. 

“Yen, stop teasing Triss.” Ciri rounds the corner with Clarissa in her arms and Emoria right on her heels, eyes glued on her sister. 

Yennefer smirks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She sets the food on the table. Ciri passes the baby to Triss, giving the redhead a sympathetic look. 

Breakfast is an interesting affair. It starts off normally, with everyone loading their plates with food and filling their cups with juice. Ciri rolls her neck and shoulders and shares that she’ll go into the woods to train and meditate. Both Yennefer and Triss share they have chores to do around the house and the everyone’s schedule for the day seems set in stone. Emoria is silent the entire time, her eyes stuck on her sister who bounces on Triss’ knee. She spoons food into her mouth, sometimes missing and smearing eggs on her chin or spilling it onto the floor. Triss’ glances at her, always offering a small smile. 

“What do you want to do today?” she asks after catching Emoria for the third or fourth time. 

The girl jumps in her seat. “N-nothing.” She focuses on her food for the rest of the meal and as the women clear the table and wash dishes, the girl trudges upstairs. A few minutes later, they hear the telltale sign of a small body splashing in the tub and Yennefer smiles. She finishes cleaning by herself, while the others change out of their pajamas. She settles in her study, her smile turning into a grin as she trails a finger along her desk. There’s several thuds overhead, the usual ambient sounds in her home. She settles down to reorganize her extensive book collection, but leaves the door open for Triss and the others to pop in as they wish. 

“Bye, Yen. I’ll come back later this evening.” Ciri wears light leather armor and matching boots. Her two swords are strapped to her back and a small dagger sits on her hips. She uses both hands to pull her hair from her face, while biting down on a small strip of leather. 

Yennefer wishes her a safe day and watches as the young woman bounds out of the door. Triss is the next to appear with Clarissa on her hip. Emoria, like earlier, is right on her heels following the woman and baby with a silent determination. Triss wears a simple short sleeved shirt and a long skirt that’s pulled up, revealing her calves. It’s probably a precaution given how closely Emoria walks behind Triss and Yennefer wouldn’t complain. The redhead dares a look in Yennefer’s office, blushing as she spots the woman seated behind the oaken desk. Emoria wears a tunic and shorts that look too big on her, but Yennefer chalks that up to the girl being underweight, which would be easily rectified now that she lived in the sorceress’ home. 

The trio start off in the sitting room. 

“What are you doing?” Emoria asks and Yennefer can almost see the frown on her face. 

“Giving Clarissa medicine. Don’t worry, I do this every day.”

“What does it do?” 

There’s a pause as Triss concentrates on giving the correct dosage. “It suppresses her cough. Keeps her fever at bay. Loosens any phlegm that may have built up overnight.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Did it hurt when Yennefer restitched your wound?”

Another pause. Then, “No.”

“It doesn’t hurt Clarissa either.” 

It’s quiet after that. They’ve either gone further into the house or outside. Yennefer couldn’t say. She loses herself in her work, lifting piles of books and placing them on the floor. It grows hot in the room and she pulls off her vest and pushes her sleeves past her elbows. 

Minutes or hours later, Yennefer hears Triss and Emoria again. 

“Can you deliver this to Yennefer? She needs to eat lunch.”

Lunch already? She wouldn’t stay cooped inside this room for much longer. Emoria runs into the room, hopping and skirting around the towers of books. Her shoulder knocks into one pile and the books threaten to topple onto her. Yennefer stills it with a wave of her hand, but the girl barely notices as she tosses the plate on the edge of the desk and rushes back out. 

“Thank you,” the raven-haired woman called, though it fell on nearly deaf ears. 

“Careful Emoria!”

“Sorry,” the girl says. “I just wanted to make sure Clarissa was okay.”

“She’s not going to disappear when you leave the room,” Triss says. She inhales, taking a moment to get rid of some of the strain in her voice. “Let’s sit down to eat.” 

Yennefer picks up her plate and joins them in the kitchen. Triss smiles at her, relieved to no longer be alone with these two young girls. Clarissa is propped on the counter, her chubby legs kicking in the air. Emoria sits next to her, taking a huge bite out of her sandwich, not bothered by the fillings that fall from between the bread slices. Yennefer takes a napkin and wipes the corner of the girl’s mouth. 

“I need to run to the market,” she says. She comes to stand next to Triss. “We need supplies for dinner tonight. Emoria, why don’t you join me?”

The girl opens her mouth to protest, but one quick smile from Triss kills any arguments she wanted to make. “Sure.” She bites into the sandwich again and offers a piece of ham to her sister who grabs it with clumsy fingers. 

_Thank you. She’s a gem, but exhausting._

Yennefer looks from the corner of her eye, catching Triss’ cornflower blue eyes. _I figure you could use a break. I’ll be more cognizant of that._

Once lunch is over, Yennefer grabs a small purse from a desk drawer and counts to make sure it’s enough. Truthfully, this was a superfluous excursion. They had plenty they could cook for meals. Neither she nor Triss allowed the pantry shelves to run bare or close to it. But Emoria, unsurprisingly, had stores of energy and little room to expend it. A walk, even the short distance to the market square, would give her a chance to simmer down. 

Emoria walks ahead of Yennefer, though she does try to stay in the woman’s line of sight. Thankfully, the streets aren’t overcrowded and the people in this part of Vengerberg are dressed in fine and expensive clothing, so it was easy picking her weathered cloak out from the sea of rich velvets and finely-spun silks. People gave the girl wide berths, some even grimacing or scowling if she dared to walk too near to them. Yennefer frowns and takes wide strides to reach the girl after an older man says something to her. 

“What did he say to you?” the sorceress asks, running through a catalogue of malicious spells that could reach him. 

“Nothing. I’ve heard it all before anyway.”

“What…” She shakes her head and lets the question remain unasked. “Just stay near me.” 

From then on, anytime Emoria threatens to take the lead again, a slim hand grips her shoulder and squeezes in silent warning. After the third time, the girl sucks her teeth but thankfully doesn’t try to walk ahead again. 

At the entrance of the square, Yennefer forces them to stop and kneels so she’s eye level with the girl. “Let’s make this quick,” she says, pulling out a gold piece from her purse. She slides it in Emoria’s palm. “Go fetch two thick slabs of lamb meat. Nothing too fatty. I’ll buy some vegetables and fresh bread. Meet me here when you’re done.”

Emoria nods, takes the money and zips into the crowd. Yennefer loses sight of her almost immediately and tries not to worry. The girl wouldn’t go far without her sister. She said so last night. That’s enough to calm the sorceress and she goes to buy what she needs. 

At the baker’s stand, Yennefer picks out a loaf baked with fresh sprigs of rosemary. An assistant brings out a tray of muffins. It’s an assorted spread; blueberry, mixed berry, apple and cinnamon. Yennefer studies each of them and picks out a mixed berry muffin. She stores everything, sans the muffin, in an ethereal space until she returns home and walks back to the entrance. A young boy, smelling of blood and smoked meat, bumps into her and hurries through an apology before rushing out of the square and onto the main road. She wipes dust from her clothing and settles on a bench. 

The muffin tempts her as she waits and she thinks of breaking off a piece. But she intended to give it to Emoria, a gift that was meant to thank her for accompanying Yennefer to the market and meant as a mild peace offering. She hoped to surprise the girl. Hoped to see her eyes widen as she inhaled the aroma and maybe glimpse a smile before she launched into the treat. And they could sit, watching people come and go, while Emoria ate. A peaceful start to their evening. 

Emoria was taking too long and now Yennefer was beginning to worry. She convinced herself something caught the girl’s attention, a piece of jewelry, some shoddy toy that costs more than it should, maybe a bard or acrobat who was in town for a while. That calmed her for all of five minutes. 

Once the idea that Emoria fled entered her mind, Yennefer is own her feet and rushes back into the square. She walks the aisles, hunting down every butcher stand she crosses. No one spotted Emoria or remembered a girl of her description. Yennefer swears under her breath because of course the girl would try something like this. She was flighty. Even the walk to the market was a test, a chance for the girl to see how far she could get before she was called back. Now she’d have to return home and once again tell Triss they needed to round up the town’s guard. 

“Out of my way. Out of the way!” 

Yennefer’s ears prick up as she hears a clear voice moving through the crowd. She spots the sweeping arch of a cape and the glint of a polished sword. A guardsman! Following the young man that bumped into the sorceress earlier. The knot in her stomach twists painfully and she feels the urge to gag. The masses split for the pair to, only to follow like an arrow towards a target. Yennefer joins them, pushing her way to the front. 

“What’s going on here?” the guard asks. 

“This urchin was trying to steal!”

“I wasn’t!” 

Through a gap between people, Yennefer sees Emoria, the guard, the young man and one of the market’s butchers. The sorceress pushes people aside until she’s at the front and the girl, eyes wide and frantic, lands on her. She tries to twist her arm, her injured arm, out of the butcher’s grasp. But he squeezes and rears back with his free hand. 

“If you strike her, I promise you will pull back less than a stump,” Yennefer says entering the small ring. “Let her go now.”

Stunned, the man’s grip loosens and Emoria pulls herself away. She cowers behind Yennefer, close enough to touch her hand or the back of her trousers. But she doesn’t reach for the sorceress. 

“That child tried to steal from me,” the butcher says pointing at Emoria. He goes red in the face as his voice rises, drawing others to the spectacle. 

“That seems unlikely,” Yennefer says. “Given I gave her money to make a purchase from your stall, which clearly was a mistake on my part.” 

“I agree. Giving street kids money is a mistake.”

“I meant patronizing your establishment. Rest assured it won’t happen again.”

The guard clears his throat. “Lady Yennefer, I must investigate the truth of this matter.” 

She whips her head to glare at him and she feels Emoria flinch behind her. She wishes to comfort the girl. This would be over soon and they could return to the comfort of her home. 

“The _truth of the matter_ is this: I gave Emoria a gold piece to purchase two slabs of lamb for our meal. I purchased some other materials and waited at the entrance for her to return. While I fretted and worried that something happened to her, she was here being harassed by this man. And now I must return home, frustrated, without materials for a meal and tend to her injured arm that the butcher callously overlooked while he displayed his mistrust and ill will of _urchins_ as he rudely called her.”

The guard swallows and faces the butcher who has lost all color in his face. 

“A-apologies ma’am. I didn’t mean…” But Yennefer raises a hand to cut the butcher off. 

“I have no need for your stutterings. Did you hand him the coin?” she asks towards Emoria. The girl blinks and shakes her head. “Good. We shall depart now.”

“B-but your lamb.”

“I no longer have a taste for it.” Yennefer spares one final withering glance at the butcher and the guard. Emoria falls in line silently, with a bowed head. They make it through the crowd and near the entrance. It’s there that Yennefer remembers the muffin and her plan to surprise the girl. In her haste to find Emoria, she completely left it behind. Dammit. 

“Here,” the girl whispers, offering her arm. Yennefer kneels on the sidewalk and examines the bandages. She counts it as a small mercy that the stitchings didn’t break. 

“How do you feel?” she asks. 

“Humiliated.” 

“Don’t,” Yennefer says. She takes a finger and hooks it under Emoria’s thumb, tilting her head up until they’re looking in each other’s eyes. “Those men should feel humiliated. Not you. You did nothing wrong.” 

Her brown eyes shimmer and she blinks to keep the tears from spilling. “I’ve swiped from his stand before,” she says. “He’s an easy target. But this time I had money.” She wipes at her eyes and sniffles. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Yennefer says, waiting to sweep down the girl’s hair. But she knows the touch would be unwelcomed, that the girl would shrike back. She forces her hands to stay by her side. Emoria wraps her arms around herself and grinds her toe into the sidewalk. 

“I had a treat for you,” the sorceress says. “I left it behind when I came looking for you. I’m sorry. Do you want me to get you another one?”

Emoria shakes her head. “I don’t deserve it.” Yennefer starts to say something, but the girl looks up the street. “Can we go back now? I want to rest.”

Yennefer sighs and nods, though she knows eventually they will need to have a deeper conversation about this. She wasn’t looking forward to explaining this Triss and Ciri. Hopefully the witcher could hold the redhead back as she tried to storm to the market square for some physical retribution. Yennefer wasn’t going to stop her. Would most likely join Triss in exacting revenge on the butcher. That bastard. But she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind for now. 

As they walk back to the home, Emoria doesn’t try to rush ahead. She flinches whenever someone looks at her, sometimes stumbling into Yennefer’s path. They’re both silent, lost in their own thoughts. Emoria wipes her eyes often as tears track down her face. When Yennefer touches her shoulder, she doesn’t pull away or lean into it. She simply lets the hand rest there for the remainder of their walk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this longish chapter. It's my way of making up for the fact that I keep disappearing for long stretches of time. I wasn't sure what should happen in this chapter, but then decided it would be fun to explore what the first full day of this new family would be like. I liked how it turned out and I hope you like it too. 
> 
> I've also read a lot of fics where Yennefer is a huge flirt and I wanted to play with that here. I hope it was successful!
> 
> Stay safe! Continue to take breaks from social media and the news when you need to. I try to stay informed, while not letting myself get overwhelmed. But take care of yourselves!


	10. Household Sounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of self-harm and attempted suicide.

When they reach Yennefer’s home, Emoria bypasses Triss without saying anything and climbs the stairs to her room. Seconds later, both women hear the soft squeak of the door shutting. 

“What happened?” Triss asks. 

“She was hassled at the market.” Yennefer enters the kitchen to store what little she managed to purchase. She recounts the events, starting with them splitting at the entrance, her worrying as she waited for Emoria to return and ending with the confrontation with the butcher and the guardsman. By the end, Triss is red in the face and the hairs on the back of Yennefer’s neck rises as she feels magic at the redhead’s fingertips. 

“I’ll gut him,” the woman says once Yennefer’s story has finished. 

The raven-haired woman hides a smile. “I’ll gladly help. But I don’t think that’s what Emoria needs now.” 

Triss sighs. “You’re right. But still…”

“We can get him another day.” Her smile breaks free and the glint in her eye is clear. Triss smirks. 

“Fine,” the redhead drawls. “For now, let’s cook something and hope the scent coaxes her out of the room.” 

It doesn’t work. Emoria remains cooped up, despite the aroma of the meal wafting through the entire house. When they come together at the dinner table, it’s just the two women and Clarissa perched in Yennefer’s lap. Triss knits her eyebrows together as she spoons servings onto two plates. 

“The worst part about today,” Yennefer says, “was hearing Emoria say she didn’t deserve the treat I bought for her. She looked...resigned to it all.”

“I can only imagine. I wonder what happened to their parents?” Triss looks at Clarissa as though she could answer. “War, perhaps.” 

But that didn’t seem likely given the baby’s age. Vengerberg avoided conflict and skirmishes as often as possible. It had been a few years since the soldiers last marched through the streets in preparation for battle. 

“Or they were gravely ill,” Yennefer guesses. There were times, back when she was adventuring and traveling, where she was called upon to heal a desperate family member. Most times she mixed a potion or used magic to draw out the sickness, leaving the person with simple remedies to help them fully recover. For every two or three success stories, she had one failure. Arriving too late to do anything but comfort someone on their way out. Or stepping into a house that reeked of rotting flesh and death, making her gag at the threshold. 

But there was another option that could explain the disappearance of Clarissa and Emoria’s parents. “Maybe they just…” Triss begins, before looking down at the baby and puckering her lips to the side. 

Desertion. 

It wasn’t unheard of. Was far more common, even now with relative peace across the Continent. Yennefer experienced it, in a way. She still flinches sometimes at the sound of coins piling in a palm, remembering her father’s wide, greedy smile as Tissaia handed money from her purse. And Triss. Well, she didn’t know the full story there. Only that she arrived at Aretuza dressed in a dress in need of washing (or burning according to the Rectoress), trembling with tears tracking down her face as she took in her new home. Whenever anyone asked about her background, she’d burst into tears and cower in a corner for hours on end. So the girls stopped asking and Triss never offered an explanation. 

She sighs now and rubs her forehead, no doubt relieving that part of her childhood. “It sucks,” she whispers. 

“Yeah.” 

Triss turns to look at her and chews the inside of her cheek. “When did you...when was the first time you felt wanted?” she asks slowly. “Not in a, uh, intimate way. Just in an ‘I matter to someone’ type of way?”

“What a loaded question for an already emotional day.”

“Sorry,” she says with a smile. 

Clarissa reaches for a piece of chicken on Yennefer’s plate, but the woman stops her, breaking off a smaller portion for her to nibble on. “It was after my  _ attempt _ ,” she whispers. She doesn’t need to elaborate any further than that. Triss knew. Had known by the faint scarring on Yennefer’s wrists that were still visible once the redhead came to Aretuza. Had known by the way the raven-haired mentioned it offhandedly one day while they spoke in her private chambers as they nursed a bottle of wine during a lull in their studies. 

“Tissaia found me in my room. I was barely conscious, but I still heard her scoff at this new annoyance she had to take care of. She put me to sleep before stitching me up. When I woke, she lectured me about choices and something else I struggle to recall.” She says this with a dismissive wave of her hand. “As soon as she left, I went to undo the stitchings. But they were perfect, which given Tissaia is to be expected.”

Triss hesitates before touching the inside of her wrist, pressing down with two fingers. Clarissa grabs at a carrot, which Yennefer is happy to feed to her.

“I realized that she sat there for hours, making sure the stitchings were perfect and hard to undo. She wanted me to live, to prove to myself that I was worthy of living. I didn’t have to prove it to her though. It was in the stitching.” Her hand trembles as she grabs her goblet and takes a sip of wine. Triss rubs her finger along her wrist, watching with gentle eyes for the raven-haired woman to recover. “What about you?”

The redhead blinks, looks down with a smile. “Would you believe that Philippa sat with me one day while I cried?”

Yennefer holds back a laugh and her brows rise to meet her hairline. “Absolutely not!”

“It’s true. I had a difficult day with my studies. You were gone on a mission for the Brotherhood or for your own business, I don’t remember. I wasn’t as close to the other girls as I was to you. So I shut myself away in what I thought was a part of the school that few people ventured to.”

She closes her eyes and rubs the back of her neck. “I barely made it there before I collapsed to my knees and started sobbing. I had been practicing this new spell, but it backfired. There weren’t any physical marks, but I felt the magic rebelling inside of me. It was painful to say the least.”

Yennefer had experienced it a few times in her youth. The magic turns inward instead of out into the world. Whatever effects were intended for a target was instead felt inside. A dark, chilling coldness. A fiery embrace that overwhelmed the senses. A kinetic impact so powerful it knocked the air out of the lungs. Some mages succounded to their own mistakes. 

“I couldn’t take potions to dampen the effects,” Triss continues, “so I had to just swallow it and hoped it didn’t kill me.” 

Yennefer hates that she wasn’t there for the redhead. She would have held her close, sat with her until the pain disappeared. And once again, since she and Triss became lovers, the raven-haired woman felt a small sense of gratitude toward Philippa Eilhart. 

“Phil found me and tried to escape. You know how she is.” Yennefer nods, but doesn’t say anything. “But I guess something didn’t sit right with her. One minute she has a foot out of the door, the next she’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with me. I couldn’t tell her what’s wrong. I was afraid she’d go to Tissaia and I didn’t want to look weak. We sat in silence. At one point she held my hand.” 

“I’m glad she was there.”  _ When I couldn’t be _ , she wants to add but doesn’t. 

“Me too.” Triss chuckles. “We sat there for hours. Well into dinnertime. Once I calmed down enough, she stood and wiped the stray tears from my cheek, mumbling it didn't look good for the others to see me in such a state. I thanked her of course, for everything. And she said, ‘I would tell you to keep this a secret, but no one would believe you either way or believe it was  _ me  _ who sat with you. So do whatever you please.’ She left after that.”

“Of course she said that,” Yennefer says with an eye roll. Her gratitude could only extend so far. 

“Still, it was nice not having to sit and cry by myself.”

Yennefer feeds another bite of chicken to the child in her lap. “I’m glad for it as well.”

After their meal, they settle on the sofa near the fireplace. Triss pulls a book from one of the shelves, while Yennefer unravels a blanket to drape over them. She holds both the baby and redhead in her arms as the woman reads a story aloud. Clarissa understands little to none of it, but smiles and giggles any time there’s a lilt in Triss’ voice. Yennefer closes her eyes, listening to the tale she’s read countless times. But it sounds exciting and fresh as the redhead narrates and she finds that she’s smiling to herself. 

“I wonder what Tissaia would say if she saw us like this,” Triss says. 

“I think she’d keel over from shock.”

“Or say how it isn’t proper for sorceresses to pretend at motherhood.” Triss hums as thin fingers thread through her hair and scratch at her scalp. “I wish she could see us though. See that it’s possible.”

“She warmed to the idea of me and Ciri well enough.”

“But Ciri has Elder Blood in her. These two are…”

“Blessedly non-magical.” Yennefer practically exhales it. She didn’t think she had it in her to raise two children who were somehow wrapped up in destiny. Even with Triss by her side, the idea of it was off putting. 

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way,” she says with a chuckle. “But yes, they don’t seem to show any sensitivities to magic. Though Clarissa is still so young. But let us hope,” she adds when she feels Yennefer stiffen underneath her. 

They sit in silence for a while, listening to the crackles and pops from the fire and Clarissa’s slow page turning. Triss guides the baby to prevent her from tearing the corners. Not that Yennefer minded. She could easily replace the book if she needed to. 

“I don’t know if I’d want Tissaia around the girls,” Triss says, breaking the silence. “Not until they’re a bit older at least. Or unless we can supervise. Same with most of the sorceresses if I’m honest.” 

“Triss the only people I’d trust to be around Clarissa and Emoria  _ without  _ one of us close by are the people who currently reside in this home.” 

“Glad we are of the same mind then.” She turns another page for the baby. “We should write to them. The other sorceresses. See how they’re doing.”

“Hm. I shall leave that to you.” 

Yennefer shivers as Triss smiles against her. “I’ll extend an invitation to come visit.”

“Let us hope there is room at an inn.” Her hand is numb and she flexes to get the blood flowing through it once more. Triss suggests they head to bed. Yennefer dresses Clarissa in her nighttime frock and makes a nest out of blankets for the baby to sleep in. Triss checks on Emoria and unsurprisingly, the girl doesn’t respond. She sighs as she slips out of her clothes and Yennefer watches from the comfort of their bed. 

“Tomorrow will be better,” the raven-haired woman offered. 

“Yes, I know.” She spoons Yennefer from behind, her arm extending far enough that she can pinch Clarissa’s toes. Triss sweeps black hair away and places a kiss on the woman’s spine, before wishing her and the baby a good night’s rest. 

The bedroom door is cracked and Yennefer listens out for Ciri’s return. She dozes on and off, waking at the hint of any movement. But it’s not until midnight that she hears the front door open and shut. Ciri sighs and groans as she climbs the stairs to her room and Yennefer almost calls out to her. But stops when another door opens. 

“Hello there,” Ciri says, keeping her voice low to not disturb the sorceresses. “What are you still doing up?”

There’s a pause before Emoria says, “I was hungry.”

“Didn’t you eat dinner?”

No response. Yennefer imagines the girl either looked down at her feet or shook her head. Either way, she must have responded in a silent manner. 

“Why are you in your cloak?”

“I…” The girl squeaks, then mutters something too low for Yennefer to hear. 

“There’s plenty of food here.” Ciri’s voice is clearer as she draws closer to the girl. “I haven’t eaten yet either. Why don’t you join me?”

“Okay.” It’s soft. The sorceress detects the slightest tremble. Ciri notices too. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ciri was her own person, but the lessons and traits from Yennefer and Geralt were still in her very being. She could dip into a quiet, stoicism like the witcher. Or lash out with vengeful anger like Yennefer. She was witty. Charming. Knowledgeable about magic and the monsters of the world. But there are traces of other people in Ciri. 

And when she says, “Well then, let’s eat dinner and not talk about  _ it _ ” Yennefer can almost hear the words coming from Triss. 

“I’ll tell you about my day if you’d like,” the young woman says. “Or I can tell you stories from my travels. Or we can sit in silence and just enjoy our meal. Your choice.” 

A pause. Yennefer wonders if the girl would flee back into the bedroom, latching the door behind her. Or if she would find a way to escape into the night. It didn’t seem likely she would warm up to....

“Okay.”

Yennefer stood corrected.

“Go take off your cloak and give me a moment to change. I’ll meet you downstairs in a few.” 

The sorceress listens to the footfalls in the hallway as Ciri and Emoria return to their rooms. Seconds later, the girl emerges, heading for the stairs but pauses for a moment. She heads down with Ciri following her about a minute later. The sorceress listens to the soft snores of the baby beside her and the woman behind her. She hears the sounds of dishes being pulled from the cabinet and a wine bottle being uncorked. 

Then, just as she closes her eyes and prepares to sleep for the night, she hears Ciri’s voice filling the air with her fantastical adventures. And occasionally, there’s an interruption from Emoria. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are the best! Whenever I post a chapter, I'm nervous for how it will be received, especially with this being a SLOW story. But you all leave the sweetest comments and it encourages me to continue with this story. I hope you enjoy this latest chapter!
> 
> I teased the idea of Tissaia still being around. I could easily ignore what happened to her in the books and let her have an appearance in this story. (I'm actually leaning towards it.) I love the idea of Tissaia and the other sorceresses being utterly confused by what's going on in the Yennefer-Triss household. 
> 
> It also occurred to me that these two women have not said 'I love you' to each other. They both feel it and I mean, they're trying to raise two girls together so clearly the emotion and commitment is there. I think between trying to figure out what's going on in Emoria's mind and making sure Clarissa get better (plus the other usual motherly duties), Yennefer and Triss just forgot to pause and say 'hey I'm totally in love with you.' So look forward to that scene in the (near) future. 
> 
> I'm also loving 'older sister' Ciri. I mentioned this before, but I originally planned on Ciri popping in for the beginning and then leaving a chapter or two later. But I love having her around to interact with both Emoria and Clarissa. (There's another scene later in the story that I hope is just as heart-warming as the final scene in this chapter.)
> 
> And don't worry, Geralt will make an appearance and he may bring his favorite bard with him (much to Yennefer's chagrin). 
> 
> Thank you so much for supporting this domestic, post-Witcher 3 Trissefer story! As always, stay safe, stay indoors (if you can), wash your hands often and take a moment to breath and release whatever tension you may be holding in your body. We'll get through this hectic time!


	11. A Few More Sorceresses

While the sorceresses, children and young witcher sat and enjoyed their usual breakfast, a knock on the door interrupted the routine of the morning. Yennefer’s eyes slide over and connect with Triss’. The redhead smiles, which slowly warps into a smirk as they both sense a familiar presence just outside the home. 

A magical presence. 

“Triss?” Yennefer says. 

The redhead rises. “I said I’d extend an invitation.”

“So soon?” She takes Clarissa from the woman’s arms and sighs. “I thought you’d wait a week at least.”

Triss kisses the side of her head. “Why stall any longer?”

Emoria and Ciri look between the two women, the latter smiling as their antics. “Who’s at the door?” the young girl asks. 

“Yen’s next headache.” 

The sorceress wants to shut her eyes and portal her way back to the bedroom to sleep through this visit. Ciri could handle the women. Emoria would survive for a while. But Yennefer didn’t want to leave her alone to endure it by herself. 

“Merigold, you look…” Philippa pauses mid-sentence and Yennefer can envision her pursed lips. “Comfy.”

“Very well placed in  _ Yennefer’s  _ home,” Tissaia adds. The raven-haired woman can’t discern if there’s surprise, judgement or pride in the woman’s voice. “Will you invite us in or shall we only see this stretch of the hallway?”

There’s shuffling and an embarrassed, hushed apology from Triss. Yennefer feels a slight throbbing near her temples and she brings two fingers to rub the area. When she opens her eyes again, the three sorceresses are in the dining room’s doorway. The redhead scuttles around to rejoin everyone at the table and her cornflower blue eyes flick over in Yennefer’s direction as she takes her seat. 

Tissaia scans the room, her eyes lingering on Emoria and Clarissa’s face. Her lips are stretched in a thin line, but she doesn’t say anything. Philippa takes in the room with her one good eye,  _ tsk _ -ing as she spots the girls. But Yennefer stands to greet them, cutting off any comment from the older woman. 

“Tissaia. Philippa. It’s good to see you. Take your cloaks off and join us if you’re hungry.” 

The former Rectoress snaps back to the present and her lips quirk up in a formal smile. She slips out of her riding cloak, offering it wordlessly to Yennefer. “I expected Ciri,” she says, pouring herself a glass of wine. “But  _ these _ girls are a surprise.” 

Emoria slows her chewing, studying the two sorceresses through narrowed eyes. Ciri leans over, whispers something in her ear and the girl focuses on her food once more.

“My sister’s sick,” she says into her plate. “Yennefer said I can stay until she’s better.” 

“And where are your parents?” Philippa asks. Emoria flinches in her seat. 

“Phil, don’t start,” Triss says. 

“We’re from the orphanage if you must know!”

“Oh interesting.”

Emoria knocks the table as she jumps to her feet. Her tiny body trembles and she grits her teeth. “But our parents’ are coming back for us. My mom said they would.” Spittle flies from her as she speaks. 

Philippa opens her mouth to speak again, but Yennefer stops her. “I’ll toss you out into the streets if you say another word.” 

“Emoria, why don’t you finish your meal.” Triss reaches for her shoulder, but the girl jerks away, nearly stumbling. 

“I’m not hungry.” She sweeps by the women at the door, taking the steps two at a time. The walls vibrate from the slamming of her door and the floor groans as she climbs into bed. Ciri takes another bite of eggs and grabs her plate, as well as the one left by the girl. 

“I’ll handle it.” And she’s gone up the stairs. Yennefer listens out, glad that her knock is answered. 

“Phil.”

“Don’t fret Merigold. I was merely curious.” She settles in the seat vacated by Emoria and helps herself to the spread before her. She picks up a slice of bread and smears jam on top. “What are you using the girls for? Or was what she said the truth of this peculiar living situation?”

Clarissa fusses in Yennefer’s arms, swatting at the air and squirming to break free. She seizes on the chance to make an escape. “I need to tend to her.” Triss’ eyes widen, the fear flashing in her eyes. But she sees that the baby needs to change out of her clothes from the night before and take her medicine. The redhead chews the corner of her bottom lip and nods quickly. 

Yennefer turns her eyes on Tissaia. “How long will you be visiting?”

“A few days. Apologies for the intrusion.” Tissaia studies the food in front of her, searching for the perfect cut of smoked salmon. 

So they intended on staying in her home. Damn the gods. Triss mouths ‘I’m sorry.’ But this wasn’t her fault. Not entirely. “We’ll determine sleeping arrangements later this evening. Make yourself comfortable.” She walks up the stairs then, hugging Clarissa close to her. As she passes Emoria’s door, she hears whispered conversation on the other side and wants to peek in, check to see how they’re doing. But Ciri seems to know what to do and Yennefer decides to trust her. 

With a flutter of her hand, the sorceress sends an enchantment in the air and watches as clothing is folded and tucked away, the sheets are pulled from the bed, while the pillows are fluffed. The room continues to clean up on its own and Yennefer can focus on dressing her and Clarissa for the day. 

Half an hour later, Triss enters the room and sinks onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. Clarissa, nestled in her nest of blankets and towels, giggles and kicks her pudgy feet in the air to catch the redhead’s attention. Yennefer glances over her shoulder with a smile, before turning to the floor length mirror once more. She tucks her blouse loosely into her trousers and cinches a belt around her waist. 

“Please don’t say ‘I told you so.’”

“I won’t.”

“I love them both. But they’re also…”

“Exhausting.”

The corner of Triss’ mouth ticks up in a smile and she readily accepts the kiss Yennefer offers. “Yes, let’s go with that word.” They kiss again and the redhead’s hands fly to the other woman’s waist to keep her from moving. Her cornflower blue eyes rake over Yennefer’s body and face. Before she can say anything, there’s a quick knock on the door and Ciri pokes her head inside. 

“Is it okay if I take Emoria out with me?”

“Where to?” Yennefer asks, straightening up and smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt. 

“We’re just going for a quick ride outside of town. She needs some fresh air.”

Triss picks up Clarissa and grabs the container with her medicine. “You two have warmed up to each other quickly.”

Ciri shrugs. “She’s lonely. I was once lonely too.”

“Did she tell you about the market yesterday?” Yennefer asks. Her blood still boils at the memory of those men enclosing around Emoria. Finding the butcher would be easy to do. Locating the guard would take some work and some coin, but it could be done. 

“She danced around it. She didn’t go into detail and I didn’t want to push her.” She pauses and looks over her shoulder as Philippa’s sharp laugh drifts upstairs. “And if those two are here for a while, it’s best to let Emoria have some space to breathe from time to time. You know how they can be.”

Harsh. Vindictive. Schemers. There were many ways to describe sorceresses, particularly two as old and hardened by the world as Philippa and Tissaia were. Most times, Tissaia meant well, but her methods were meant to warp scared young girls into sorceresses who never flinched at the idea of pain. Philippa was still seeking revenge, holding on the grudge and anger that festered inside when an eye was gouged out on Radovid’s command. She was meant to lose two. But the pain and fury from her brutalization exploded out into the world, killing the men pinning her down and from their slaughter, she escaped back into the world. 

“Very well,” Triss says, coming to stand next to Yennefer. “Try not to stay out too late.” 

Ciri was already partially out of the door and grins at the two sorceresses. “We won’t. And I’ll watch out for her.” She’s gone then, rushing back to Emoria’s room and closing the door behind her. Triss hands off Clarissa to Yennefer so she can change. Once she’s finished, Emoria steps inside after knocking. She wears an outfit from Ciri’s childhood, though the pants drag on the floor. She dons her trusty, worn cloak and it’s partially open, revealing the handle of a knife strapped to her hip. Yennefer’s eyes narrow, but she says nothing about the weapon. She hates how necessary it is in this world. 

“Ciri and I are leaving,” she says. “Can I say bye to Clarissa?”

Wordlessly, Yennefer kneels and hands the baby off. Emoria doesn’t make eye contact with the woman. She brings her head to rest against Clarissa’s and shuts her eyes. “I’ll see you later,” she whispers. The baby responds by smacking her sister’s cheeks and the girl smiles. She gives Clarissa back to Yennefer and turns to leave. She wraps a hand around the side of the door. 

“Enjoy your day,” she whispers. 

Both women blink, but she’s already down the hall heading towards Ciri who waits for her at the top of the stairs. The witcher raises her hand and waves at the sorceresses. They race down the stairs and out the door. The house falls silent once more. 

“Four sorceresses and a baby,” Triss says. “What can go wrong?”

When they go downstairs, the raven-haired sorceress tries to retreat into her study, but is stopped by Triss pinching her shirt and dragging her back into the dining room. They sit to finish their breakfast, but it ends within minutes with Philippa.

“Merigold, are you that rusty you can’t whip up a poultice to cure the girl?” 

Yennefer grits her teeth and holds Clarissa too close to her body. The baby squirms, threatening to cry out. 

“It’s not that simple,” Triss says, slipping a hand under the table to touch the raven-haired woman’s knee. “Her cold is clearing, thankfully. But there’s still phlegm in her lungs.”

“That can easily be pulled from her,” Philippa says. Tissaia bites into an apple slice and collects the juice with the pad of her thumb. Needing to preoccupy her one free hand, Yennefer spoons porridge into Clarissa’s mouth. “But I guess you and Yennefer would rather play mother and homemaker. No doubt Geralt will show up on the other side of the door.”

“Bitch,” Yennefer says. “I won’t let you speak to Triss or the girls like this.”

Philippa smirks. “But you’re open game?”

“Stop,” Tissaia says and her tone leaves no room for debate. She cuts her eyes in Philippa’s direction, frowning. “Stop bickering. Stop fighting. There’s no advantage to be gained here.”

Philippa puckers her lips to the side, but says nothing. Tissaia looks toward Yennefer and the raven-haired woman returns her gaze. 

“We’re here for a visit,” the former rectoress says slowly, still stringing the right words together. “I want to have a pleasant visit, so let’s try to be civil.”

Yennefer and Philippa look at each other, but say nothing. They settle down for the rest of the meal. The baby in her arms and the warm hand on her knee are the only things keeping Yennefer from launching a fury of spells in the other woman’s direction. In her youth, she would have tried her luck. Possibly would have bested Philippa. But as Triss squeezes her knee and Clarissa tuck herself under Yennefer’s chin, the sorceress tells herself that that old life is behind her now. 

The truce lasts for the rest of the day, though Philippa tests the strength of it. It’s not until she’s given a strong brandy from Yennefer’s reserve that she finally becomes amicable. The amber liquid spins in a vortex in the crystal glass as Philippa twirls her wrist. She’s perched on the edge of a chaise in Yennefer’s office and her brown eyes scan the shelves and crevices of the room. Triss sits on the floor and opens her arm, smiling encouragingly as Clarissa tries to crawl towards her. Yennefer sits across from her, her back pressed against the front of her oaken desk. Tissaia rests in the main bedroom, though her nap is dipping into the second hour and the sorceresses wonder if they should wake her. Philippa fidgets with the fabric tied around her missing eye, lost in thought. 

“Why this?” she asks, pointing towards the baby. “It seems so mundane.”

“We’re quite happy,” Triss says, never taking her eyes off Clarissa. 

“What happens when you get bored?”

Yennefer looks at her lover, her smile diminishing as she awaits a response. 

“I won’t get bored,” the redhead says. 

Philippa sips from the glass, shivering from the warmth of the drink. “What about you, Yennefer?”

“I experienced mundanity after the Wild Hunt. Triss and the girls broke that up for me.”

The owl sorceress stops swirling her glass and studies them with her good brown eye. “And when Triss decides to return to Novigrad? Or when she is called upon by a monarch seeking her counsel? What will you do then?”

Clarissa finally lands in Triss’ arms and the woman lifts her. Her legs wobble as she tries to hold her own weight, but the sorceress keeps a tight grip on her. The redhead blushes and glances at Yennefer from the corner of her eye. 

“I have no plans of leaving Vengerberg,” she says shyly. 

“Oh gods,” Philippa says. Her eye goes wide and she jumps to her feet. Brandy spills on the floor and Yennefer cleans it with a simple spell. “Gods, gods, gods. You two are...oh gods. Tissaia!” She dashes out of the room, calling for the former rectoress as she climbs the stairs. 

“You didn’t tell them?” Yennefer asks. 

Triss smiles and shakes her head. “I thought it best to share the news in person.”

“Troublemaker,” she says with an eye roll and a smile. 

“I learn from the best.” 

Philippa pounds on the bedroom door and when it swings open, Tissaia shouts at her to be quiet. There’s silence as the two women converse. Yennefer rises and extends a hand to pull the sorceress up. Triss touches her waist. 

“Let’s go deal with the consequences,” the redhead says. 

Yennefer looks into Clarissa’s brown eyes, grinning. “Yes, the three of us will go face the consequences of your mother’s actions.” It slips out and as soon as she hears it, she’s torn between wishing to take it back and wanting to embrace the warmth in her chest because that word, ‘mother,’ felt so right. 

“Mother?” Triss’ eyes brim with unspilled tears and her bottom lip trembles. 

“Yeah,” Yennefer whispers. “It fits, doesn’t it?”

Triss nods. “It does. For both of us,” she says before leaning in for a kiss. Yennefer smiles against her lips, locking her arms behind Triss’ neck and pulling her closer. 

“I told you!” Philippa’s voice breaks the moment and the sorceresses smile shyly before pulling away. “They’re  _ fucking. _ ”

Tissaia’s eyes are wide too, but she fixes her expression and regards them with a calm demeanor. She clasps her hands in front of her. “Philippa, there’s no need for the alarm. You’ve had your trysts and relationships. Surely they deserve to experience the same.”

A diplomatic response, Yennefer decides. She wonders what are the woman’s true opinions. She’s sure Tissaia had her share of encounters with love and sex between her students. Sabrina dabbled with classmates during their years at Aretuza. Keira opened her bed to any who showed interest. Yennefer and Istredd began their decades-long relationship in the halls of the school, though the rectoress never found out until the raven-haired sorceress was out in the world. (Or Tissaia never acknowledged the relationship until Yennefer had developed into a woman and had completed her studies.)

But there’s a hint of a smile on Tissaia’s face and Yennefer thinks maybe the former rectoress doesn’t mind. 

“If that’s all, I’d like to finish my nap.” She leaves them then. 

Triss leans against the desk. “Do you want a refill on your brandy?” 

“Don’t act smug, Merigold.” Though she holds her glass out, waiting. Yennefer summons the decanter and pours a quarter glass for the woman. “Is that why you invited us here? To rub your relationship in our face?”

“Not in that way,” Triss says. “We just want to include you in this part of our lives.”

“For what purpose?”

“Because you’re important to us.” 

Yennefer resists the desire to roll her eyes at this. Philippa takes a long sip and lets the heavy glass rest in her palm. 

“I won’t say I’m happy for you,” she says, swirling the glass again. “But I can tolerate it. I guess. Though I still don’t understand the desire to rear children.”

“It just feels right,” Triss says. She leans her head against Yennefer’s shoulder, humming as the raven-haired sorceress slides an arm around her waist and pulls the redhead closer. Philippa watches with a grimace and stomps to the side table to pour more brandy. She mumbles something under her breath that’s lost on the other women. 

“Just be careful with children,” she says. Her back is towards them. Yennefer can only imagine the expression on her face. A grimace most likely. “Destiny or no, they’re impressionable and difficult to manage. Moody. Hard to appease should you make an error. Little monarchs without the army, wealth or influence.”

“Thank you for the lecture,” Yennefer says. Philippa turns as they stare at each other through narrowed eyes. 

“I’ve been alive much longer than you,” the owl sorceress says. “I’ve witnessed things you’ll never know. And I speak from observation, not experience. It’s why I was pleased when I was sterilized.” 

“Phil, we’ll be fine,” Triss says. 

The woman stands in front of them, eyeing the baby in the redhead’s arms. The girl reaches for her with a smile, but Philippa leans away, still scowling. “At least she’ll grow to be beautiful. In a classic way. The coin is still in the air on her sister.”

“There’s more to her than her looks,” Yennefer says.

Philippa smirks and nods. “Yes, you’ll have to fill her head with that empty platitude soon enough.” 

Yennefer growls, but stays quiet when Triss kisses her cheek. She smiles at the owl sorceress with a hard edge in her cornflower blue eyes. “Never speak such words to Emoria. Ever,” she says in a quiet voice and it sends a shiver down Yennefer’s spine. Philippa stares with a blank expression. Clarissa makes sounds of protest in her arms. 

“Someone wants a nap.” Her voice is cheerful once more and she lifts the baby to press her against her shoulder. She looks out the side of her eye at Yennefer. “Come help me please.” The raven-haired woman nods. She remains slack-jaw as they head to the upper level. 

“Are you still in your daze?” Triss asks once they’re in Ciri’s room. 

“If you spoke like that to Philippa more often, I’d be more inclined to attend Lodge meetings. 

The redhead lays Clarissa down in the bassinet that’s become a permanent feature in Ciri’s room. The baby yawns wide as warm, thick blankets are wrapped around her and she blinks slowly at the women standing over her. She drifts off minutes later and the women slip into the hallway, leaving the door cracked behind them. 

“I like to save that tone for other opportune moments,” the redhead says. 

“Oh really? Like when?”

Triss winks at her, spinning to avoid Yennefer’s lunging hand. “We have guests and several rooms that must be cleaned.” She walks backwards. “I’ll take Emoria’s room. You preoccupy yourself with some necessary task. Like figuring out where  _ we _ shall sleep tonight.” 

“Find a spot that’s well insulated and will trap any noise. I’d rather not be privy to the specifics of your and Triss’ intimate coupling.” Tissaia stands in the doorway, rubbing the lingering sleep from her eyes. Her dress is ruffled from rolling around on the mattress and half of her hair is pressed flat against the side of her head. What little makeup she wears is smeared across her face, though it’s not too noticeable. It’s the only time Yennefer can recall the woman looking less than perfect. 

“Very well,” the raven-haired woman says. She eyes Triss with a smirk. “I’ll busy myself until dinner.”

Philippa still sits in the study, nursing the brandy and stares straight ahead. The decanter rest on the floor near her foot. She doesn’t glance up as Yennefer passes, though the raven-haired woman hears the slightest scoff as she drifts by. 

There’s little to clean. Yennefer kept a tidy home even before Triss and the others began living with her. But there is a thin layer of dust on the top of different cabinets and the fireplace could use a good scrub. At some point, it dawns on her that Emoria will need a place to sleep as well since Philippa has claimed that room. The girl would likely turn down Ciri’s offer to share a bed. She pulls out several thick quilts and places them neatly on the sofa. 

As she works, she thinks about her oldest daughter and the girl she hopes to claim as another daughter. She wonders how they’re getting along and how they’ve spent their day. Yennefer checks the supplies in her medical kit in case the girls return with scratches and bruises. Knowing Ciri, it’s a strong possibility the kit will be needed.

When she’s finished, the room smells faintly of jasmine and cedar from the new fire burning under the mantle. The sun is starting to set and a deep blue, near black, stretches across the sky as the first stars appear. The front door opens announcing Ciri and Emoria’s return. Triss is already in the kitchen, putting the last touches on their meal for the evening. There are careful, nervous steps in the hall and when Yennefer pops her head out the door, she sees Emoria walking towards her. But the girl stops when she spots the sorceress and looks down at her feet. Her clothing is caked in dried mud, thorns and grass stains. But she appears unharm. Ciri stands behind her, with arms crossed over her chest and a wide grin on her face. 

“Did you have a good day?” the sorceress asks. 

Emoria doesn’t speak until Ciri claps her on the shoulder. “Y-yes, we did.”

“We rode along the river. Tried to do some fishing, but no luck there.” 

“Thankfully, we have plenty of food here,” Triss says from the kitchen. 

“And it smells delicious,” Ciri calls. “Let’s freshen up before we eat.” Her hand appears on the girl’s shoulder once more, guiding her towards the stairs. 

At dinner, Emoria speaks little even when a question or comment is directed at her. Ciri tries to pull her into the conversation, but doesn’t press too hard. Yennefer and Triss sit near the girl to shield her from Philippa’s sharp, inquisitive gaze. 

“Sure you haven’t changed your mind?” Ciri asks. She sips her ale and exhales. “There’s plenty of space in the bed. And I’m an easy sleeper. No tossing or turning from me.” Yennefer sighs, relieved that the conversation occurred at some point today. She didn’t want to bring it up herself and hates that her home is too small for all of them to sleep comfortably. It gives her ideas for whatever future lies ahead. 

Emoria pushes a piece of broccoli, sopping up the sauce that’s slathered across the chicken leg quarter. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“I placed quilts on the sofa,” Yennefer says. “And the fire will keep you warm.”

“Or you can take my bed,” Ciri offers. 

“The sofa will be okay.”

Ciri smiles and tussles the girl’s hair. “Very well. As long as you’re comfortable.” 

“I am.” And the corner of Emoria’s mouth twitches up as she says this. 

After dinner, the women spread out across the house. Needing fresh air, Yennefer slips out a back door and sits on a bench that faces her modest backyard. She meant to bring Triss out here, let her experiment and grow flowers or fresh food for them to eat. The weather’s turning and soon it would be the perfect time for the redhead to start a garden. 

Yennefer turns at the sound of a flame sparking to life. Tissaia dips her finger in the barrel of her pipe, taking quick puffs until the tobacco leaves catch fire. A thin, wisp of smoke trails out the corner of her mouth and she takes another long pull, holding the smoke inside before exhaling through her nose. 

“Mind if I join you?” she asks, speaking around the pipe. Yennefer extends a hand and scoots to make room on the bench. “It’s a cool night.”

“Yes. Spring has finally settled.”

Through the open window, they hear Ciri tell a joke with Emoria’s quiet laughter. Yennefer smiles. Even if the girl was still trying to figure out the sorceresses, at least she was warming up to the young witcher. It made her feel better about how this would all end. Tissaia’s face is cast in a pale orange light as she inhales again. Somewhere in the distance, crickets chirp in tall grass. 

“I was only mildly surprised to see Triss living with you.”

“Only mildly? We were hoping to catch you completely unawares.”

Tissaia chuckles and a plume of smoke escapes into the air. “You two were always close. Triss had puppy dog eyes whenever she looked at you and you kept her close, though I suspect you didn’t fully understand why. I figured it was a matter of time before one of you confessed. Who was it, by the way?” 

Yennefer cups her chin and looks up at the stars. “It was mutual,” she says, remembering that night. Had it only been a month? It seemed like at least a year since the redhead settled into her home. “A blizzard forced her off the roads and we hunkered down. Once it passed and the roads were cleared, she never made an attempt to leave and I never questioned her.”

“And you two are happy?”

“We are.” She doesn’t even hesitate. Triss has joined the girls inside the sitting room. Emoria quiets down and Yennefer imagines she’s tucked herself in the sofa’s corner. It doesn’t bother the redhead, who settles into an easy conversation with Ciri. 

“The girls were a complete surprise.”

“So we did catch you off guard?”

As the light strikes Tissaia’s face again, Yennefer can see the corners of her eyes pinched together, her lips drawn downward as she’s lost in thought. The raven-haired sorceress prepares herself for this lecture. 

“I remember the day you brought Ciri to me and Margarita. Here you were, a proud sorceress standing tall with your shoulders set back, your attire barely dusty from travel, your expression schooled to not betray your inner turmoil. And next to you was a mousy girl, with a mop of unruly ashen hair and wild, angry eyes. All I could think was  _ What is Yennefer doing _ ? What  _ are  _ you doing?”

“Does it seem absurd that I’d want more children?”

There’s a pause as Tissaia inhales. “No,” she says through the smoke. “Not entirely. In your youth you wanted adventure, lust masquerading as love, danger, to flex your abilities and impress those around you. You were a wild child.”

Yennefer smiles and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. The former rectoress continues speaking. 

“Now you crave a mundane living that many like us scoff at. And I can’t say I don’t blame you. After Sodden, your blindness, the coup at Thanedd, the brutalization by Nilfgaard and your fight with the Wild Hunt, this life,” she says, guestering blindly towards the window behind them, “it seems like the perfect exhale.”

“But?”

Tissaia blinks. “I have no ‘buts.’ You want to live with Triss and those three girls, I’m happy for you.” 

“I have a ‘but’.”

“Speak on it, then.”

Yennefer lowers her head, letting her hair shield her from the woman’s steady gaze. Her hands clench together and she tries to keep a level voice when she speaks again. “Are we capable of this? Can we actually do this?”

“I’ve never raised a sorceress to doubt herself.”

“For once, just speak to me as though we’re outside of Aretuza’s walls. Speak to me as though we’re friends and you’re here to console me.”

Tissaia sets her pipe down and moves closer until they sit shoulder to shoulder. Yennefer fights the desire to lean into her, but doesn’t say anything or react when a hand settles in the middle of her back and runs up and down her spine. 

“I often speak to you as a friend, especially in recent years when you’ve proven how capable you are over and over,” the older woman says. “And what I said was true. You can’t doubt yourself. Not when two young ones are relying on you.”

They sit in silence for a while. Yennefer watches as candles are snuffed out in different rooms and homes across the way. She imagines it’s close to Clarissa’s bedtime and yawns into her hand to hide her own tiredness. 

“Yesterday, Emoria and I went to the market. I sent her off to fetch meat for dinner, while I purchased other items. When she didn’t return, I worried and searched for her. Only to find she was being accosted by the butcher, his helper and a city’s guardsman. I intervened before it became too serious. But, Emoria was shaken and I couldn’t act on my anger before tending to her.” 

“So what are you concerned about?”

Yennefer straightens, but Tissaia’s hand still rests on her back. She arches an eyebrow. “Did you not hear the story?” 

“I did. You let a child loose into the world and the world lashed out at her. You wanted retaliation, but sought to comfort her first.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s the way motherhood goes.”

Yennefer’s jaw slackens as she looks at the older woman. Tissaia smiles at her. 

“Despite the standard I held you and the other girls too, you’ll never be a perfect mother. Neither will Triss. Perfection with sorcery is expected and necessitated. Perfection with children is impossible. You did the best you could with Ciri and she turned out a little battered and scarred, but wonderful overall. You’ll do the same with these girls.”

“Why do you think that?”

Tissaia snorts, which causes Yennefer to whip up and look at her. She’s never heard a sound like that come from the former rectoress. 

“Despite your best attempts,” she says slowly, “the sheet of ice around your heart is as thin and pliable as the last frost on a lake before spring. All you need is a bit of warmth and you’re open to loving another. And Triss was never good at ignoring her heart’s desires, which has gotten her into trouble plenty of times.”

Yennefer nods, thinking back to that confession from a few days ago. But she doesn’t say anything to Tissaia. It was an intimate conversation that she didn’t want to share with anyone else. The former rectoress pushes through the silence. 

“If it were Sabrina, Fringilla, definitely Philippa or even Margarita, I would show more concern. But it’s you and Triss. We’re all emotional, still sifting through and dealing with the pain of our past. Some of us buried it, some of us used it as fuel and some of us shed silent tears.”

“Let me guess, Triss and I are in the tears category?”

Tissaia smiles. “Hers were rarely silent.” They quiet down as they hear someone approach them from behind on the other side of the window. Tissaia pulls her hand back but seconds later, another warm hand wraps around Yennefer’s shoulder, squeezing before touching the side of her neck. She leans back, tipping her head to look up into Triss’ face. 

“I’m going to get Clarissa ready for bed,” she says, running her thumb across Yennefer’s cheek. “Do you want to help?” 

Tissaia lights her pipe once more and takes a long pull, letting the two women speak without interruption. She stares straight ahead and Yennefer sees the flicker of a smile on her face. 

“I’ll be there in a moment.” 

“Take your time.” Triss takes Clarissa’s arm and waves at the former rectoress. “Say ‘Good Night Tissaia.’” But the baby only smiles and giggles. 

“Good night sweet girl,” the woman says, returning the smile. When they’re alone again, Tissaia runs her hand down Yennefer’s curls. “You deserve this. It won’t be easy, especially with the storm brewing in Emoria. But you and Triss deserve this home, those girls, that love between you two.” 

Yennefer blinks back the tears that suddenly spring to her eyes. Her bottom lip trembles, but she hides it behind her hand. Tissaia doesn’t acknowledge it or move to comfort her further. That was never their relationship. The simple touch on the back of her head was enough for her and they sit like that while Tissaia continues to smoke her pipe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to upload this earlier, but it took longer to write than I initially expected. I hope you all enjoy this longer chapter! I really wanted to squeeze in the scene between Yennefer and Tissaia because I didn't think it would fit in the chapter that will follow this one. And I hope you all don't mind the changes I made to Philippa and Tissaia. 
> 
> Also prepare yourselves. The next chapter (or two) will be a doozy! Expect fluff and angst in equal measure. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this chapter! As always, stay safe! I'm sending you so much love and support! Continue to be amazing!!!


	12. Bad Blood

“It’s not just a tryst.” In the dark, under the light of stars, Triss plays with Yennefer’s hand. Twisting and contorting, pressing their palms together before walking slender fingers along smooth, pale skin, the redhead seems mesmerized by this part of Yennefer. Or she needs something to focus on to avoid the lilac eyes that stare at her. 

“Me and you. I don’t see it as a tryst. I don’t want it to be a simple affair.” She whispers this into the air. 

Yennefer rolls over to her side, never breaking the contact of their hands. “I don’t see it that way either.” 

They lay on the study’s floor, though Yennefer cast a projection around the entire room, showing the soft rolling hills just outside of Vengerberg and the countless stars above the city. They can see the city’s walls and the few lights from the guards making their rounds for the night. The woolen blanket is warm beneath them and before they settled, Yennefer conjured another blanket to cover them. Everyone was tucked away, asleep in their own corner of the house. And while the women wanted nothing more than to slip out the back door for some much needed time alone, they thought it better to project the outdoors from the comfort of the study.

The redhead tucks her free hand under her head and sighs. Yennefer watches the rise and fall of her chest, wanting to touch the skin underneath the blouse she wears, to run her fingers along the curves of the other woman. 

“I know Tissaia meant no harm. But that word just stood out to me,” Triss says. Yennefer hums and places a kiss against the side of her neck. “I don’t want it to be perceived that way.”

“Well, what do you want? And don’t say ‘it’s silly.’ It’s me and you here, so you can be honest.”

Triss rolls over to face Yennefer and in the dark, the raven-haired woman can make out the soft features of her lover. The redhead pulls back her hand to cup Yennefer’s neck and brush her thumb from her ear across her cheek. 

“I want you,” she says slowly, carefully like she’s still afraid of this side of her. “And I want to help raise those two wonderful girls with you. I want a better relationship with Ciri. Possibly a bigger home because I think we’ll outgrow this soon.” She chuckles here and Yennefer smiles, silently agreeing that yes her cottage-style home has quickly become too cramped for all of them. 

“I…” Triss trails off and her hand stills against Yennefer’s neck. And the raven-haired woman knows what’s coming next. She can sense it in the way Triss’s hand trembles ever so slightly. In the way she’s forcing herself to breathe deeply. Can almost see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty as she steps into the unknown of their relationship. 

Since their first night together, since the very first, genuine kiss between them, there was always a chasm, a deep, frightening abyss that separated them from where they were and where Yennefer wanted them to be. And now was the moment where they’d either flail and unravel everything they had built together or where they’d jump, hands locked together, bodies pressed in a deep embrace as they freefall towards land they’ve never tread on before. 

“Triss, I love you,” she whispers. And she can’t help her grin as the redhead’s eyes and mouth go wide. 

“W-what?”

“I. Love. You.” 

Triss exhales. She chuckles, a short, breathy noise that seems to have stuck to the back of her throat for a spell. Yennefer wishes she could bottle that sound and set it on a shelf. But the source is right here, in her arms, touching her neck with a gentleness and tenderness that Yennefer’s unfamiliar with, breathing warm air against her skin. And she never has to be far from that sound’s source, this sorceress with brilliant, red hair that Yennefer loves and adores with each stitch of her being. 

“I love you too Yenna.” Her thumb moves again, tracing the soft curve from Yennefer’s ear to her jaw. 

“And I want to be with you in a larger home so Ciri, Emoria and Clarissa will have a space of their own.”

“Not that they’d mind being clumped together.”

“Then I want a larger home so you can have the garden you deserve. Somewhere outside the city walls where the girls can roam and play without boundaries. I want Emoria and Clarissa to have the childhood that we didn’t have. I want Ciri to have a manor to return to when she needs a break from the Path. I want all of that Triss. And I want it with you.” She reaches blindly for the redhead’s hand and once again laces their fingers together. Triss squeezes their hands and leans in for a kiss. Yennefer twists and slips her arm around the back of the other woman’s neck, pulling her closer. 

Triss breaks the kiss with a gasp, breathing hard as she settles on top of the raven-haired woman. “Yen,” she whispers. It likes a feather on her nose. Triss chews her bottom lip and shudders as a hand travels down her back, following the soft curve of her spine. Warm fingers slip under the hem of the silk blouse, touching near the top of the redhead’s hip. 

Blindly, she follows the swoops and swirls of Triss’ body, not hesitating when her fingers graze one of the many scars from Sodden. She traces it from bottom to top, committing it to memory. There were dozens, some faint, some still visible even from a distance. Most times, she’d kissed them or trailed her tongue along them as she fondled Triss’ breast. But tonight, she traced the scars slowly, methodically, etching into her mind the feel of them beneath her fingers. When Triss squirmed or fidgeted, Yennefer would lean up, straining her neck to press her lips against the redhead and reassure her that everything would be okay, scars and all. 

Her hand touches the underside of Triss' breast and the young sorceress moans, breaking the kiss, as Yennefer cups it. She squeezes the breast, smiling as the redhead twitches atop her. Warm lips still shining from a layer of gloss, press against Triss’ neck close to the sensitive spot where the blood pulses underneath. 

“Ah, Yenna,” Triss cries as teeth sink into her skin. She bites her bottom lip, breaking off the whimper that starts to leave her mouth. 

“Sh, my love. The others are sleeping.” Yennefer swipes her tongue against the tender area, tasting a light layer of sweat and the sweet perfume the redhead usually wears. She smirks, biting down again though this time with less pressure so as not to leave a mark. 

Triss shifts, letting her knees sit on either side of Yennefer’s body, locking her in place. But the raven-haired woman had little thoughts of escaping. She tugs on the blouse’s straps, pushing them down the redhead’s shoulders until they hang slack against her elbows. Triss pulls her arms free and sits up, teases the woman beneath her by sliding the blouse down exposing…

Her clavicles and the soft skin that’s aching to be marked by kisses and teeth

Then her cleavage that tease Yennefer, causing her mouth to water as she waits for what comes next:

Perfect, rounded breast with erect nipples.

The rest of the blouse falls further, but the raven-haired woman only catches a peek of Triss’ toned stomach. She leans forward, taking a nipple in her mouth, between her teeth and sucks. The redhead arches her back, her moan softer this time as she whispers Yennefer’s name. Her hips roll, grinding down into the raven-haired woman’s lap. 

And as Triss is distracted, Yennefer walks her hand down between their bodies. Wetness coats the redhead’s inner thighs and for a moment she’s stunned by the realization that Triss wore no underwear underneath her gown. She pushes two fingers inside the redhead, holding her by the waist as she jumps. 

“Is it okay?” Yennefer asks. 

Triss nods, sitting her hips back to take the other woman’s fingers to the knuckles. She looks down at the raven-haired woman through half-lidded eyes, her pupils blown so her eyes are nearly black. Yennefer is transfixed as the woman moves her hips, setting a slow pace as she fucks herself with the raven-haired woman’s fingers. She twists her hands so her palm brushes against the redhead’s clit with each thrust and the woman twitches and moans in appreciation. 

“I love you so much,” Triss whispers, lowering herself and cupping Yennefer’s face so they can kiss. Languid. Gentle. Exploratory. Each touch a reassuring gesture, a reminder that they were in this together. Yennefer didn’t need to say it again, but would never grow tired of expressing how much she loved, cherished, adored Triss. Through every Sodden, every encounter with a Child of Surprise, through the halls of Aretuza and the palaces they once resided in, she’d follow Triss through it all. Over and over, declaring to all who would listen that she loved this woman. She loved her bright hair that made her stand out in crowds. She loved the scars that marked her body, the ones Triss was still afraid of revealing to others. She loved the sweetness of her laughter and the ache in her tears. She loved watching her nurture Ciri, Emoria and Clarissa. She loved this woman. 

Triss breaks the kiss, letting her forehead rest against Yennefer’s as she climaxes. Her mouth hangs open, her breath catching in the back of her throat as she continues to ride the fingers inside of her. Yennefer caresses her cheek, placing soft kisses on her nose, the corner of her mouth, her bottom lip. Triss stills on top of the older sorceress, sucking in air as she drifts down from the high of her orgasm. Her head rolls to the side, letting it rest on Yennefer’s shoulder and her arm lies limp across the woman’s stomach. 

“If we get a new home, I have a suggestion,” Triss says, still trying to catch her breath. 

“Hm? What’s that?” She smiles as the redhead brushes her hand down her stomach. 

Triss props herself up on her elbow, a smirk snaking across her face. Her eyebrow quirks up. “Our room should be a decent distance from the girls. I don’t want to lose hearing you when I’m between her legs.” In a flash, once again she's on top of the woman, kissing her way down and pushing Yennefer’s knees apart. Her red hair fans out, covering her face as she slides her tongue down Yennefer’s wet lips. The raven-haired woman covers her mouth with her hands to stifle the obscene, hearty moan that threatens to come out as Triss pushes her tongue inside, tasting her arousal. Her hips move of their own volition, bucking against the woman’s face. 

Triss smiles between her legs, but Yennefer is barely aware of it. She’s already teetering towards her own orgasm. She shuts her eyes, but the brilliant light of the projected stars still squeezes through. One hand threads through the soft, silky strands of red hair, scratching at Triss’ scalp to keep herself grounded as she feels light, weightless, floating up towards the shimmering starlight. 

And her lover’s name spills out her mouth, mantra-like as she comes hard. 

Yennefer comes back down, down from the stars along the ceiling, back flat against the nest of blankets that tickle her skin. Her smile is loose, lopsided as Triss kisses up her stomach, leaving hints of her arousal and orgasm in her wake. She can smell it on the redhead’s lips as they kiss. Yennefer wraps her arms loose around her lover’s back, pulling her close. 

“How was that?” Triss asks, placing soft lips along her jaw. 

Yennefer smiles, nuzzling her nose in that red hair. “Amazing. You never have to ask,” she whispers, her body trembling from a chuckle. “Gods, if we started this earlier, the Continent would have been doomed.”

“Really? How so?”

“I’d have locked us in a manor somewhere and ignored the machinations of the Wild Hunt, Vilgefortz and those other fools.”

Triss smiles against her. “You’d never let anything happen to Ciri. You love her too much.”

Yennefer hums. “Yes, she’d be there with us. Our family of three,” she says with a sigh. 

“Soon to be five. If we can gain Emoria’s trust.” 

“We will,” Yennefer whispers. “In time, I believe she will warm up to us.”

Triss settles on her side facing Yennefer and brushes her cheek with the back of her hand. Their hair mixes together on the floor as they inch closer. Their night ends as it began as Triss takes Yennefer’s hand and plays with her fingers. 

“I can’t believe you love me,” she whispers, quiet as though it wasn’t meant to be heard. 

Yennefer smiles. “Never doubt it,” she says as she shuts her eyes. “I love you Triss Merigold. So much.” She falls into a light sleep then, aware on some deep level of her lover still twisting and turning their fingers in that soft caress. She rouses once, late at night, as Triss curls into her back and murmurs in her sleep. Yennefer tips her head back and reaches blindly for the hand draped over her stomach, before falling back asleep. 

In the morning, sunlight stretches across the wooden floor and the edges reach Yennefer’s face, slipping through her eyelids and forcing her to wake once more. She runs a hand down her face, wishing to drift off again. Triss’ arm is tight across her hip and she’s still fast asleep behind her. But the redhead protests when she feels Yennefer start to rise and they fall into their usual morning playful argument. 

“I need to start breakfast,” the raven-haired woman says with a chuckle. “Do you trust Philippa or Tissaia to cook?”

“Tissaia is a skilled chef.”

“Oh? Do you have firsthand experience with that?”

Triss looks at her through the spaces between her fingers. “I’ve tasted her cooking once or twice. But you’re the better cook.” 

“All the more reason to let me go for now.” 

Triss groans and Yennefer stands, shaking the tightness and soreness from her arms and legs. She searches for her robe and ties it around her waist as she walks towards the study’s door. 

“Triss?”

“Yes?” She rolls over to her other side and props her cheek in the palm of her hand, cornflower blue eyes staring at Yennefer. 

“I love you.”

The redhead blushes. “I love you too,” she whispers. 

Yennefer expects to hear the usual morning stillness as she steps into the hallway. But her ears perk up as she hears whispers and snippets of a conversation in the kitchen. She ignores it for now, believing it to be Philippa and Tissaia. But she frowns when she peeks into the sitting room and sees an empty sofa with the quilt bunched up near the foot. The floor is cool against the bottoms of her feet as she walks back to the kitchen. 

“What should we have?” Ciri asks. 

“Omelettes?”

Ciri chuckles. “Again?”

Yennefer stops near the edge of the doorway and listens, curious about the nature of this sudden friendship between her daughter and Emoria. 

“They’re tasty,” the girl says. “I’ve never had them before.”

“Alright. I can do omelettes.”

Yennefer presses her back flat against the wall and inches closer to hear better. 

“You could have omelettes everyday, well every other day, if you stayed with us.”

“I guess.”

“Wouldn’t you like to live here permanently?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Why the hesitation?” Ciri asks. 

It’s silent for a while and the sorceress feels a twitching near her temple as she waits to hear a response. Yennefer tries to peer around the doorway to see inside, but stills as the floor threatens to groan from her weight. She rolls her eyes and strains to hear something. Something she can use to understand Emoria’s emotions and state of mind. 

“I don’t belong here.”

Not ‘we.’ I. Just Emoria. She felt like she, and she alone, didn’t belong in this house. But why? Yennefer didn’t understand. She and Triss had done all they could to make her feel welcome since the girl first stepped into the home. They fed her. Gave her a bed to sleep in. Tried to wash her in affection and love to make her see that she was wanted. Why did she feel this way?

“You belong here as much as your sister or I do,” Ciri says with a steadiness in her voice. It made Yennefer feel better. 

“Everyone in town knows of ‘Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg’ and her adventures with you and ‘The White Wolf.’ Where would I fit in with a story like that?”

Yennefer grinds her teeth. Dandelion and his damn bardic tales. 

Ciri sighs, her thoughts likely straying to the same conclusion. “The story is continuous. You’ll find your place with us. And the real story is a lot more complicated than whatever you hear in the tales. I mean, Yennefer and Geralt aren’t together anymore.”

There’s a hint of sadness there, forcing the raven-haired sorceress to tip her head against the wall, biting back tears. 

“Why?” Emoria asks. “I like Lady Triss. I like her with Lady Yennefer. But…”

“But what happened between Geralt and Yen?” Ciri sighs again. “So much and so little. A lot of mistrust and anger and missed chances. Rivers of bad blood that I didn’t notice as a child.”

There was so much she failed to see as a child. Parts Yennefer and Geralt tried to hide from their child. Parts that fell by the wayside as they battled something larger and more powerful than a hot and cold affair. And there were issues Yennefer didn’t notice until she had time to sit, think and breathe. And the more she reflected on her past with the witcher, the more she accepted how fraught it all was. But clearly, she failed to communicate that with her daughter. 

Dammit. 

There’s shuffling in the kitchen and several clangs as pots and pans are moved around. Ciri cracks an egg against the metal pan and the sound of it sizzling against the heated metal fills the silence in the room. Yennefer thinks she hears others moving around. She suspects Triss will rouse soon and it wouldn’t look good if she caught the raven-haired woman skulking in the dimly lit hall. She peels herself from the wall just as Emoria speaks again. 

“Is that why people leave? Bad blood?”

The girl stares at Ciri’s back and the young witcher turns, slowly to face her. Ciri’s shoulders fall from the weight of that question, sessing that it went beyond the subject of Yennefer’s former relationship. She glances up, locking eyes with the sorceress, her green eyes a pool of concern, shock, and heartbreak, a reflection of the emotions in Yennefer’s eyes. And the heartbreak worses, slashing deeper against her heart as Emoria twists to look at her with a deadpan look. That same, sad acceptance that was on her face when the man hassled her on the street or when she and Yennefer left the market after the encounter at the butcher’s stand. And the sorceress didn’t know  _ how  _ to navigate this. 

How?

How?

How was she supposed to do this?

Emoria looks away and begins kicking her leg in the air. She clasps her hands, letting them rest in the center of her lap. 

“The eggs are burning,” she whispers. Ciri snaps back and lunges at the skillet, to pull it from the flame. 

“Shit,” she says as the metal scalds her palm. It drops to the floor, the undercooked egg spilling out to the floor. Smoke drifts upwards, swirling and dissipating, taking up space with the heaviness that presses on everyone’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I wanted to publish it sooner, but I really, really, really struggle when it comes to writing intimate scenes haha. I had the beginning and end written for a while, but it took DAYS for me to write that middle part. Also there was a comment on the last chapter that said they missed Yennefer and Triss being intimate and I think you all in my head too much because I had this planned out well before I read that comment. Haha
> 
> But our two favorite sorceresses FINALLY admitted they loved each other! Woo!
> 
> And to be clear, when Triss says she has tasted Tissaia's cooking in the past, that's a reference to her time as a student at Aretuza. I just imagine there were nights where the Rectoress cooked a meal and Triss just happened to be in the kitchen or general vicinity at that time. But it wasn't a common occurrence. 
> 
> Emoria continues to break my heart and unfortunately, it's going to get worse from here. Sorry! Fair warning, the next chapter will be mostly angst! Like 80-90% angst-ville.
> 
> But until then, continue to stay safe and healthy! You all are the absolute best! I can't express that enough!


	13. A Harsh Conversation

They don’t speak of Emoria’s loaded question during breakfast and Yennefer can’t bring herself to burst Triss’ bubble from the night before. The redhead seems to twirl on air, dancing around the room as she holds Clarissa close to her chest. And when they all sit to eat, minus Philippa for illusive reasons, Triss hums and feeds the baby bites from her plate. Emoria eats with her head bowed, her brown eyes fixated on the crisped edges of the omelette on her plate. Ciri stares at the wall and jumps when Tissaia calls her name. 

“Y-yes?”

“This is quite tasty,” she says, using her fork to point at the omelette. 

“Thank you.” 

Yennefer sighs and forces a smile when she feels Triss place a hand on the back of her wrist. She looks at the redhead, leaning over to wipe the egg smear at the edge of Clarissa’s mouth. She feels Emoria’s eyes on her, but when she glances at the girl she’s once again interested in her meal. 

_ I think we should call on Mistress Granger _ , the redhead thinks.  _ Clarissa is doing better every day. It may be the right time to speak to her about adopting these two girls.  _

Tissaia smiles over the edge of her teacup as she brings it to her lips. The corner of Yennefer’s mouth twitches, but thankfully goes unnoticed. She forces herself to sip her juice before responding. 

_ I think that would be lovely.  _

_ You’re not having second thoughts about this, are you? _

_ No, Triss.  _ She turns her hands so that their palms touch.  _ I told you. I want  _ this  _ and I want it with you.  _

The redhead beams at her and for a moment, Yennefer allows herself to be buoyed by the hope that Triss emanates. But just when she feels her own joy building up inside and spreading throughout her body, the memory from earlier this morning yanks her back into the cesspool of despair and anxiety that sits in her stomach. She can still see the resignation in Emoria’s eyes. The complete shock on Ciri’s face. If she sniffs, Yennefer imagines she can catch whiffs of eggs burning in the kitchen. 

“ _ Is that why people leave? Bad blood? _ ”

Her heart shatters into pieces so miniscule, she wonders if she’ll ever be able to collect them all. She chances a glance at Emoria again, trying to dredge up something at the sight of the girl swinging her legs under the table. Yennefer wants to feel comforted by image, wants to believe Emoria’s thoughts are on silly, mundane things: what would be served for lunch, when could she and Ciri spend another days in the woods, how much longer must she sleep on a couch while her bed is occupied by another. 

But she knows those aren’t the thoughts of this young girl. No. Emoria wonders about her real parents. Wonders if and when they’ll return. Wonders what caused them to leave in the first place, abandoning her and her sister to the sole orphanage in town. Her thoughts were akin to many children’s across the Continent, left to survive on their own when their parents walked out their lives. Yennefer was one such child and her thoughts caused her to seek a permanent silence. Tissaia intervened, scolded her and told her to take back control of her life. Now, it was up to Yennefer and Triss to intervene and save Emoria from whatever dark thoughts plagued her mind. 

“We should go to the orphanage,” Triss says later as she dresses Clarissa for the day. “It would be easier for us to go to Mistress Granger, than for her to come to us.” 

Yennefer nods, fixing her obsidian star collar around her neck. “Shall we venture there now? Get the nerves out of our system?”

“I’m not nervous.”

The raven-haired woman looks over her shoulder with a sly smile. “And yet I’ve never known you to fidget so much.”

Triss pulls down the bottom of her tunic and tucks it loosely into her pants. “I’m not fidgeting. I’m adjusting my outfit.” 

“Hm. I’m sure.” 

“I’ll get it!” Ciri calls just as there is a knock on the front door. The two sorceresses leave their bedroom and head to the top step just as the young witcher climbs the stairs. And as Yennefer spots the woman in the doorway, she feels as though all of the air leaves her lungs. Triss must feel similarly because she almost staggers and leans into the steadying hand that Yennefer places on her lower back. The redhead turns and smiles at the raven-haired woman before addressing the old woman who stood on the other side of the open door. 

“Mistress Granger,” Triss says. She pauses to clear her throat. “Yennefer and I were just talking about you. We wanted to speak to you about something personal.”

The grey-haired woman nods at them. “I thought I’d check on the two young ones.” She squints as she stares up at the upper landing. Ciri climbs the last few steps and reaches to take Clarissa from Triss’ arms. Triss smiles at her and pinches the baby’s cheek before joining the orphanage director at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Where’s Emoria?” Yennefer asks in a whisper. 

“I’m not sure,” Ciri answers in a voice that’s just as quiet as mother’s.

Yennefer resists the sudden urge to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. “Keep her from the study, if you can.” Ciri nods and slips into her room.

In the study, Mistress Granger declines Triss’ offer of a glass of wine or brandy. The old woman plants herself, with a slowness that comes from age, on the chaise and examines the different corners of Yennefer’s study. Over time, a frown pulls the corners of her mouth down as her dark grey eyes land on different artifacts, grimoires and dusty tomes. She sniffs, making a small noise of disapproval and suddenly Yennefer finds herself in need of a drink or something to occupy her hands. Triss looks for a place to sit, but quits her search when it’s clear the only open seats are right next to the orphanage director or behind Yennefer’s desk. She clears her throat, casting a quick look in Yennefer’s direction. It’s meant to be reassuring and the raven-haired woman smiles back at the redhead.

“Yennefer and I were hoping to speak to you about the girls.”

Granger, who was focused on a drawn diagram of the anatomy of a Drowner, twists in her seat and faces the two sorceresses again. The frown is wiped from her face, her eyes carefully neutral. But her hands flex and twitch in her lap. 

“I hope they haven’t been too much of a disruption. Clarissa is agreeable. But Emoria has her moments of…”

“They’re both lovely,” Triss says, cutting the woman off. But Yennefer wonders what Granger wanted to say. Moments of what? Boldness? Rashness? Mischief? 

“I’m sure.” But her eyes narrow just a fraction, easily missed by most. Not by the sorceresses, who were trained in the ways of reading others. A useful skill at court and one that would favor them during this conversation. 

“We were hoping,” Yennefer says, reminding the orphanage director of her presence, “to make the arrangement permanent. Lifelong, if you will.”

“An adoption?”

“Yes,” Triss says. 

Granger’s shoulders rise as if she’s preparing to laugh. But it never comes, likely dying deep in her stomach when she sees the naked openness on the women’s faces. Her shoulders fall back in place from her sigh. 

The study’s door is shut tight, but all three women hear the sounds of someone walking down the hall. It’s hard to tell, but Yennefer guesses it’s either Tissaia or Philippa. More likely the latter as she tries to pry and uncover what’s happening inside the room. She hopes Ciri managed to locate Emoria and preoccupy her for the duration of Granger’s visit. The director was being diplomatic, which was unexpected, but it would be easy for the old woman to slip and stumble over her choice of words. 

Granger looks at the Drowner’s diagram again and her upper lip twists in a small sneer. Yennefer can almost see the moment her cloak of diplomacy slipped away. “What could you want with  _ those  _ two?”

There’s a small inhale from Triss and she leans back. The old woman shuts her eyes and takes a calming breath. When she faces the sorceresses again, the neutral expression is back in place. 

“I have little qualms with who adopts the orphaned children,” she says, giving the two women a pointed look. “Most often it’s newly appointed lords who come in search of young servants to staff their estates. Children are easy enough to train.” 

Yennefer crosses her arms in front of her chest, though she wants to reach over and touch Triss. The redhead’s jaw is set tight as she stares at the old woman across from them. Granger continues speaking as though she’s unbothered by the quiet anger that begins to fill the room. 

“I can’t begin to guess at the wealth you two amassed during your years advising various kings and queens. Though I imagine it’s more than enough to pay for any child you desire. But I must caution you against adopting these two.”

“Why?” Yennefer asks. 

“Clarissa is far too young to be of service and Emoria…” Granger shudders and purses her lips.

“That’s not why we wish to…” Triss pauses. No doubt the word ‘purchase’ popped into her mind, the seed planted by Granger’s words. “We wish to raise them. As our own.”

“Motherhood?” This time the old woman doesn’t hold back her laugh. It’s short and sharp, slicing right through Yennefer as if it were an arrow or a blade. 

“I don’t see why that’s funny,” Triss says. 

Granger sobers quickly, sensing the anger underlying Triss’ words. She hums in contemplation, glancing up at the ceiling. Over the pounding of blood in her ear, Yennefer hears someone else walk by the study. She thinks to poke her head out the door and tell everyone to quiet for a moment so she can think. But it falls silent in the hall before she can move an inch. 

“My ladies, I’ve served in the orphanage for years. Many, many years. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.” She sighs and stretches her legs out in front of her. “During my years, many have looked upon my orphans and shuttle them away for different purposes. I’m sure you’re aware Lady Yennefer that the king cares very little for the affairs of orphans and so rarely do I find myself in a position to be picky with those who wish to swap coins for a child.”

“So why does the thought of us adopting Emoria and Clarissa amuse you?” Yennefer asks, trying to ignore the painful knot in her stomach. She tastes bile at the back of her throat as she ponders the fate of some of these orphaned children. 

“Someone of your renown and wealth can afford someone better than those two girls. ”

Yennefer is stunned to silence. Even her thoughts have gone mute. She feels cold, supernaturally so, as though she was touched by a ghoul or other ghastly creature that lurked in the woods. She knew it would be a feat to convince Mistress Granger that Emoria and Clarissa belonged in this home. But she never imagined she and Triss would be treated like customers at a stall, picking over the different children as if they were cuts of steak. 

“Better than Emoria and Clarissa?” Triss asks, speaking with some difficulty. 

Granger nods. “To be clear, you can afford a child better than Emoria. As I said earlier, Clarissa is agreeable, easy to handle especially with you both possessing magic at your fingertips. But Emoria requires a firmer hand if you wish to temper her impulses. She’s moody and flighty. Loves to challenge you for her twisted pleasure. In short, a problem child.”

“We’ve seen none of this,” Yennefer says. Though, now that her mind starts to work again, she knows this is a lie. Emoria has exhibited all of this in the few days she’s been in their home. Only Ciri seemed to connect with the girl and get her to sit still. But what would happen once she returned to her Path? 

Granger’s smile is evidence enough that she knows Yennefer’s words are false. “You’ve had her for less than a week. I doubt you can make such a character judgment.”

“And you can?” Triss nearly spits. 

“Yes,” the old woman says with a nod. “I’ve had them both for months now. Emoria wishes to leave, but Clarissa is her anchor.” 

“But surely she’s not the first child who has given you problems,” Triss says. 

“She’s not. Nor will she be the last. But most know enough to avoid being apprehended by the city’s guard. I’ve woken countless nights to find soldiers at my door with Emoria standing between them. Is that a fate you wish upon yourselves?”

Triss spins on her heel and pours a shot of brandy into a glass. “This is bullshit,” she mutters under her breath. Granger must hear because she starts to smirk, but stops when she notices Yennefer’s eyes on her. The redhead downs the harsh liquor in one swig, shivering from the heat. The old woman clears her throat, but Triss doesn’t offer to pour a drink for her. 

“You wish to be mothers. I won’t deny you that,” Granger says. “And Clarissa would flourish under your care.”

“But Emoria?” Yennefer asks, though she doesn’t want to hear the answer. 

“She’s better suited for, well I’m not sure. If I’m honest, I’ve thought little of what her future would look like.”

Triss turns again, the glass gripped tight in her hand. Yennefer grabs her wrist to keep her from stalking towards the old woman. Granger doesn’t even flinch. 

“But you two seem attached to this idea,” the woman says slowly. She puts a hand on the armrest to brace herself as she rises. “I’ll give you a few more weeks and then come to check on you and the girls.” 

Yennefer pries the glass from Triss’ hands before it can shatter and slice into her skin. The ceiling groans above them as Ciri moves about in her room. She thinks she hears the squeaking of someone on the stairs, but isn’t sure and dismisses it as the floorboards settling. 

“I hope Clarissa is healing well.”

“Just fine,” Triss says. 

“Good. I believe it’s time I return to the others. I’ll be back in two or three weeks.”

Neither sorceress reponds. They watch as the old woman opens the study’s door and enters the hall. 

“I’ll see her to the door,” Yennefer whispers, rubbing Triss’ shoulders. The redhead’s bottom lip trembles as she avoids eye contact. “Take some time to calm down.”

“How aren’t you seething from this?” 

Yennefer squeezes the redhead’s shoulders. “I am. But what good would it do to attack an old woman?” She hears Granger’s voice in the hall. “I’ll be back in a second.”

The orphanage’s director is at the front door, her wrinkled hand on the knob. But her body is twisted sideways, angled slightly towards the stairs and the person on a middle step. Yennefer’s heart drops as she sees a small body with dark brown hair. She thinks, the horror dawning on her as she recalls the quiet steps in the hall and the groaning staircase. The girl  _ was  _ light on her feet at times. 

“Be well Lady Yennefer,” Granger says, though her eyes are on Emoria. 

The raven-haired woman doesn’t deign to respond. She shuts the door, breathing in as much air as she can to ready herself for what may come next. 

“Granger’s right.”

Yennefer’s shoulders fall. She’s too tired. Too drained to deal with this now. She doesn’t want to deal with it ever. Her dreams are simple. She and Triss are together in their home. Emoria and Clarissa are their children and Ciri visits frequently. There’s enough space for them to live comfortably, but they all find themselves congregating in one room. There’s laughter. Joy. Tenderness. It’s simple. Mundane. The life she deserves. 

But…

“You and Lady Triss can do better than me.”

They have to confront  _ this _ . 

“Don’t say that.” Triss’ voice cracks as she speaks. Yennefer turns and spots her lover at the foot of the steps, glancing up at the young girl. “Yen and I want to care for you. We want to do this.”

“Why?”

“Because we like you,” Yennefer says. She stands next to Triss. “We like you and your sister. We both have the means and the space to take care of you two.”

Emoria wrings her hands together and looks around. Yennefer recognizes the look in those brown eyes. That same desperate search from that night in the kitchen. She’s looking for someone or something that’s valuable to her alone. “What will you do when our parents come back?”

The sorceresses didn’t have it in them to shatter her fantasy. And maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe her parents would return one day, standing on the other side of the door with teary eyes and stories to explain their disappearance and abandonment of their daughters. But it wasn’t likely. Yennefer and Triss knew this world, knew it cared little for the sentimental relationships between people. Some were fortunate to experience an unlikely reunion. But most were left with a fleeting sense of hope and the slow, chilling realization that they’d never see their family again. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Triss says, but she doesn’t look at Emoria or Yennefer. 

They seem to be at an impasse with no clear route to take. There wasn’t a clear conclusion. No one could try to come up with one. It was all so messy. 

Emoria continues to wring her hands together and turns to head back up the stairs. But Yennefer couldn’t bring herself to leave things like this. She calls the girl’s name, surprising everyone in this small space. 

“You shouldn’t believe Granger’s words. I know from experience you can’t trust people who accept coins for children as if they’re another type of market wares.”

And for a moment, Emoria’s mouth twitches. A smile flickers across her face, but it’s a fleeting moment and Yennefer wonders if she imagined it. Emoria climbs the stairs and goes into Ciri’s room, leaving the door cracked. 

The raven-haired sorceress is wrapped in a memory from her youth and she fails to notice Triss reaching for her hand. When she blinks, she’s back in her home, next to the woman she loves and the stench of manure no longer hangs in the air. Triss runs her thumb along the back of Yennefer’s hand. 

“You okay?” the redhead whispers. 

Yennefer swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “How about you?”

Triss’ chuckle is harsh and humorless. “I’m ready to set fire to something. But what good would that do? I never thought the conversation would go that route.”

“Me neither,” Yennefer whispers. She glances at the spot where Emoria stood just seconds ago and is suddenly struck by an idea. Without looking away, the raven-haired woman squeezes their hands. 

“I have a plan,” she whispers. “Or rather,a suggestion. Come with me.” She pulls Triss back to the study and shuts the door behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Mother's Day in the US, so it's the perfect time to update this fic!
> 
> Before I write a chapter, I always have an idea of what needs to happen to move the story along. I knew the conversation between Granger and the sorceresses would be a difficult one, but I was surprised how cruel Granger turned out to be. No wonder Emoria feels like she doesn't belong anywhere. But I'm glad Yennefer and Triss seem more determined to raise these two girls.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I promise to update again soon! As always, thanks for the comments and kudos! Stay safe! Much love to you all!


	14. Hearth and Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief mention of self-harm/suicide

That night, Emoria is immediately on guard when Yennefer and Triss step into the sitting room and conjure a mattress near the fireplace. 

“It’s quite cool in the study,” Triss explains to the girl as Yennefer gets to work laying heavy blankets on top of the bed. “Mind if we join you in here tonight?”

“I don’t care.” She watches the women through narrowed eyes, keeping her own blanket close to her chest as she sits up and rests against the armrest. 

“Do you need anything before you sleep?” Triss asks. Yennefer pretends to check on the fire in the hearth, though it’s still going strong and would keep them warm through the night. 

After Granger’s visit, the two sorceresses discussed how best to break down Emoria’s walls. Ciri managed to do it after just one late night dinner together. Yennefer and Triss could attempt to do the same. Though it wouldn’t be easy. Emoria yearned for her parents and her life before the orphanage. To accept a life with the sorceresses would require the girl to abandon her dreams of being reunited with her parents. And asking her to let go of that dream, that bit of hope that lived inside her, would be a hard, near impossible feat. 

But they had to do something. They had to at least make the attempt. Even if things didn’t work out, even if the girls were forced to return to the orphanage, the sorceresses couldn’t let Emoria go on believing she wasn’t worth a loving home. And so Yennefer and Triss would give her the space to come to them, while making it clear they had no intention of ever leaving or abandoning her. 

Before they left the study, Triss turned to Yennefer with a wry smile. “Simple really,” she had said. And Yennefer chuckled at the dry humor.

A log burst, sending embers floating in the air. Emoria shakes her head at the redhead’s question and Triss stretches out on the mattress. “Let us know if you change your mind.” She sighs as she settles under the covers. “This is much better than your study.”

“I happen to like my study,” Yennefer says with a teasing smile. 

“And I like to be warm as I sleep.” 

The raven-haired woman lays next to the redhead and gives her a quick peck on the lips. She’s painfully aware of Emoria’s eyes on them and decides to keep her salacious comment to herself. “Whatever,” she says with a smile. “Good night.”

Triss tucks an arm under her head. “Good night Yennefer. Good night Emoria.’”

“G-good night,” the girl says. 

Triss drifts off almost immediately, her breathing evening out as her body relaxes under the covers. Yennefer is envious of this ability. Even under Triss’ strong embrace, she struggled to fall asleep with ease, her mind much too active, even during a late hour. 

They lay on their backs next to each other, but it doesn’t take long for Triss to seek Yennefer’s warmth in her sleep. She scoots closer, tossing an arm over the raven-haired woman’s stomach and curling into her a bit so she can comfortably rest her head on Yennefer’s shoulder. 

The raven-haired woman listens to the ambient sounds in the room: the pop and crackle of the fire behind her, Triss’ near quiet snores, Emoria shuffling on the couch as she tries to fall asleep. Even without the use of telepathy, Yennefer knows the girl is wrestling with something. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. She looks at the ceiling’s beams, not expecting an answer. But as always, Emoria manages to surprise her. 

The girl licks her lips. “Why shouldn’t I believe Granger? Why shouldn’t I trust her words?”

Yennefer is grateful Emoria sits above them on the couch. Otherwise, the sorceress would have to shuffle and disturb Triss’ slumber in order to twist and look at the girl. It’s still slightly uncomfortable, looking at the girl from such an odd angle. But Yennefer doesn’t complain.The sorceress can see the collar of Emoria’s smock peeking over the edge of the patchwork quilt. Her brown hair, that usually rests just above her shoulders, is in a single braid and Yennefer wonders if Ciri took the time to braid it before they went to bed. Emoria’s eyes are wide and clear as she rolls on her side and locks eyes with the sorceress. 

“What experience do you have with people like Granger?” she asks.

Yennefer is surprised by the bubble in her chest. She thought she had long since worked past this pain, had let it burn away with the remnants of her old life when her spine was aligned and her deformities were ‘corrected.’ Her parents were long since dead and any biological relatives that may have existed, siblings, distant cousins, aunts or uncles, were likely in the ground, their bodies turning to dust and mixing with the earth that people walked on. But as she tries to speak about _that_ day, the words stick to the back of her throat and it’s hard to dislodge them even after a deep breath. Emoria watches her the entire time, patiently waiting for a response. 

“My father sold me to Tissaia,” she whispers. The girl inhales through her nose, indication enough that she heard the words. “I was young. Twelve or thirteen. I don’t recall. But he thought I was worth less than an average-sized pig.” He haggled for a ‘decent’ price, getting Tissaia up to four marks which was far less than his original asking price of ten. 

“Why did he do that?”

Yennefer struggled with that question for years. Even now, if she was unpreoccupied the question would cross her mind and still she had no answer that satisfied her. 

“I can only speculate,” Yennefer says. Triss mutters something in her sleep and snuggles closer to the raven-haired woman. It’s comforting and she’s glad for the physical contact. “Elven hatred has always run deep among humans and my father felt deceived by my mother.”

“You’re an elf?” The girl squints as if that would help her see the physical features of the Aen Seidhe. 

“A quarter, yes. It falls on my mother’s side.” Yennefer’s neck starts to protest from being held in a slightly uncomfortable position. She groans, shutting her eyes as she rolls her neck and shoulders. “Humans still believe mating with elves will grant you preternaturally beautiful offspring. Maybe that’s why my father chose my mother, only to be sorely disappointed at my birth.”

“But you are beautiful, Lady Yennefer.”

She opens her eyes with a smile. “With the aid of enchantments and painful alterations. But I didn’t always look this way.” 

Emoria sits up again, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. She chews her bottom lip. “How did you feel?”

“How would any child feel when their parent sell them to a stranger?” Yennefer keeps the malice she still feels, the pain from being abandoned, out of her voice. Whatever feelings still linger from that day shouldn’t be directed at the girl for being curious. She wants to rub the inside of her wrist as a phantom pain throbs under her scar. “I dealt with it the best that I could.”

“H-how?” the girl asks, her voice cracking. 

Yennefer makes the decision in seconds. She waves the girl over with her hand. Emoria slides off the couch, dragging the quilt behind her. She sits on the floor next to Yennefer’s outstretched arm. The sorceress frees her other arm that’s pinned under Triss and rolls onto her side. The redhead groans and presses herself into Yennefer’s back, causing the raven-haired woman to chuckle softly. Then she sobers as she locks eyes with Emoria and points down to the thin scar that marks the inside of her pale wrist. The girl’s eyes widen and she sucks the air in through her teeth. 

“Tissaia found me, stitched me back up and sat with me until I woke.” She wants to say more, but stills when Emoria takes a lone finger and places it against the scar, feeling the skin that’s slightly rougher than the rest of her arm. They’re both quiet. Emoria studies the scar, while Yennefer studies the girl. The longer they sit in silence, the more Yennefer fears the girl’s thoughts will stray to a dark place, to a place she was once in when her family dumped her. She opens her mouth to say something, but Emoria speaks first. 

“I’m glad she found you,” she whispers. 

“Me too.” 

Emoria leaves her finger against Yennefer’s wrist and the sorceress doesn’t try to pull her arm back. The girl stares into the fire. 

“Your father was wrong about you.” It was half a question, half a statement. She was trying to come to some conclusion and Yennefer trusted she’d get there if given the time and space. “Granger could be wrong about me?” That was certainly a question, one whispered into the air. Emoria grew tense while she waited for a response. 

“Granger _is_ wrong about you,” Yennefer says. Firmly. Without a waver in her voice. She takes her other hand and brushes it down Emoria’s dark hair and the girl doesn’t flinch or twist away. 

“But I won’t be a sorceress like you or Lady Triss. Or a witcher like Ciri.”

“Fates I’d never want to thrust upon you or your sister.” She smiles when Emoria looks at her. “Ciri chose her Path and I support her. But by the gods, I worry when she’s traveling. And being a sorceress is a burden in ways I hope you never have to experience. It’s only in recent years that I see the good in what I am. But I still struggle with it to this day. You’re young and have plenty of time to grow into who you’re meant to be.”

Emoria pulls her hand back to wipe at the corners of her eyes. She wraps herself in the blanket. “What if I’m meant to be nothing special?” 

Yennefer pushes herself up on her elbows (ignoring the whine from her lover behind her) and takes the girl’s chin in her hand, forcing them to lock eyes once more. “If I can rise from a pigsty to become the sorceress I am today, I believe you will be something spectacular. Okay?”

Emoria threatens to look away. Her brown eyes search Yennefer’s face, seeing sincerity and honesty in a pool of lilac. “Okay,” she whispers. She smiles. It’s small, just a slight upward quirk of her mouth. But it’s the first, genuine smile from the girl since she entered the house and Yennefer knows she will cherish it for the rest of her days. 

“Now, it’s late,” she says, releasing the girl’s chin. “Go back to the couch and get some rest.  
The girl nods and rises to her feet. She stretches back on the sofa, laying on her side so she’s facing the sorceresses. “If I were to become a witcher, would you support me too?”

Yennefer tries not to read too much into that question. Tries not to examine too closely the implicit future, one where Emoria is still a part of their family, that’s buried in her words. But she also doesn’t fight the blossom of warmth in her chest. 

“Yes,” the sorceress answers with a slight chuckle. “I’m sure Triss could learn to love me with a head full of grey hair.” This response earns Yennefer a wide grin. Another success in her opinion. 

“Good night, Lady Yennefer.”

“Good night, sweet girl.”

***

Yennefer rouses when Triss stirs and sits up on the mattress. She cracks an eye and watches as the redhead stretches her arms and back. It’s cooler in the room since the fire died overnight. Yennefer closes her eyes and starts to fall back asleep, smiling as warm lips are pressed to the side of her head. The mattress shifts as Triss stands and rebuilds the fire in the hearth. Emoria stirs and groans.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What time is it?” the girl asks.

“Early. 8 or so, if I had to guess,” Triss answers. “Go back to sleep.”

“Are you starting breakfast now?”

Yennefer listens to the soft footsteps of her lover as she crosses the room to stand closer to the couch. “I’m going to freshen up first and then I’ll start our meal.” 

The girl is silent, but Yennefer can confidently picture her nervous mannerisms. Either it’s the slow, thoughtful chewing of her bottom lip. (A habit they would need to break one day.) Or a ringing of her hands as she shuffles on her feet. Or a glancing away. And Triss is standing there, smiling and waiting for Emoria to say something or shut down like she’s done before. 

“Can I help?” It’s shy, like she’s unsure if she’s crossing a personal boundary by asking to share this early morning quiet in the house. 

“Of course,” Triss says. 

“Can we have omelettes?”

Triss laughs. “I’ll make one just for you.”

There’s more shuffling as Emoria stands and takes the time to fold the quilt. Triss pokes the fire to make sure it’s strong enough to last for a while. She draws the covers up on Yennefer, before she and Emoria walk out of the living room and into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm back with another chapter in a short amount of time! I wrote this and thought about tacking on the scene that will essentially become the next chapter. But I liked where things ended here and decided to upload it now. I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> I think I'm really loving the way Yennefer and Triss parent. They're parenting styles are different from one another and yet they really complement the other. I'm looking forward to them actually mothering Emoria and making choices that are different than the choices their parents (and parent-like figures) made when they were young. 
> 
> Also let's be honest! I think Yennefer would look so good with grey hair! Triss would absolutely die! Let me know what you think.
> 
> Continue to stay safe! Sending lots of love to you all! Until the next chapter!


	15. Return of the Rectoress

“You know,” Tissaia says into her mug of coffee. “If you’re going to parent these two girls, you’ll eventually need to educate them.”

Yennefer blows into her own mug, tasting the near black brew with a tentative sip. “Hmm. On what per say?” she asks, eyeing the older mage. Breakfast ended nearly half an hour ago and the dishes were cleaned and put away. Everyone retreated to their own section of the house, except for Yennefer and Tissaia who sat at the table across from each other to enjoy their drink. 

“Oh don’t act like I’ll steal Emoria from you,” the Archmage says. “We both know she doesn’t possess the ability to sense and manipulate magic. But it is important that she knows her letters, how to read and count coin.”

“And you want to be her tutor?”

Tissaia grins, quirking an eyebrow. “I’d like to start her on a program at least.” 

Deciding the drink is cool enough for her liking, Yennefer takes a bigger sip and sighs from the warmth. “You were a harsh teacher.” Each sorceress built their own defenses to push back against Tissaia’s rigorous demands. Yennefer went for wit, poking at the older woman and starting pointless bickering matches that could last for hours. Triss retreated to the confines of Aretuza’s greenhouse, honing her skills to the point of perfection. Philippa...well she, like Yennefer, liked to jest and antagonize Tissaia during her time as a student (if the rumors the raven-haired sorceress heard were true.) Keira was purposefully vapid and flippant, doing well to hide her smirk behind her hand as Tissaia went pink in the face. And there was Sabrina who in the beginning threatened to kill the archmage, though over time her words warped into simple, yet harmless, threats of mild inconveniences. 

“I did what I could with you lot,” Tissaia says with a slight frown. “And I think you learned to appreciate my musings.”

Yennefer shrugs. “In time, I did.” 

“But I’m not teaching a future sorceress. I’m teaching a young girl who should be able to rely on more than just what lessons she picked up on the streets.” 

She had a point, though the raven-haired sorceress wouldn’t admit it aloud. She was already going to cede victory to Tissaia. No point in letting the older woman learn just how easily Yennefer had been swayed. “And what do you propose she study?”

“Mathematics, History, Reading and Penmanship,” she says, ticking the subjects off on her fingers. “A bit of etiquette would help. But I can only do so much with that in a few days.”

“You’ve thought hard about it,” Yennefer murmurs. 

“I have. And if Emoria takes a liking to another subject, Alchemy, Diplomacy, Battle Tactics, I’d be more than happy to accommodate her.”

Yennefer rests her cheek in her palm and studies the other woman. Tissaia has softened since losing Aretuza and her position within the school. Not only physically, but emotionally. She is kinder, slow to respond in anger when others go for the quick barb. And she checks on the other sorceresses often. Yennefer admits she’s surprised Tissaia is still in Vengerberg. She was never one to linger after her business was settled. 

“You must miss it,” Yennefer says. 

Tissaia stares ahead, though the muscles near her mouth twitch. “Miss what?”

“Being the Rectoress.” 

“Hm. I do.”

Yennefer smiles. “Well now I know sentimentality comes with age.”

“Oh please,” Tissaia says with a dismissive wave. 

“But I trust you with Emoria’s education.”

There’s movement in the hall and seconds later, Triss rounds the corner to join them near the table. She stands behind Yennefer, placing her hands on the raven-haired woman’s shoulders and pressing her thumbs into the soft skin in a gentle massage. The archmage looks at the redhead. 

“Are you opposed to me acting as Emoria’s tutor for the duration of my visit?” she asks. 

“No, I’m not.” 

Tissaia pushes her chair back and stands. “Good, then I shall start right away.” But when she leaves the room, she makes a right towards the study and sitting room, instead of the left that leads to the stairs and the upper level. It takes a moment before Yennefer realizes either she or Triss are meant to retrieve Emoria. Which makes sense. The news of this new routine should come from one of them and the girl would likely handle it better that way. 

“I’ll go make sure Tissaia doesn’t reorganize your office,” Triss says. Though from the sounds coming down the hall, it seems the woman is setting up in some other part of the house. 

“I’ll pull Emoria from Ciri’s room.” 

When she reaches the top level and peers into her oldest daughter’s room, Yennefer is greeted with a sight that threatens to burst her heart. Emoria sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed with Clarissa planted in the space between her legs. Ciri prances around the room, reenacting some past adventure with so much gusto it would stun Dandelion to silence or near enough to it. Yennefer thinks the young witcher is recounting a tale from her solo travels, but she can’t be sure. Whatever the story, Emoria tosses her head back and lets out a laugh that could be heard throughout the house. Ciri doubles over, struggling to contain her own laughter. 

“I hate to break this up,” Yennefer says, rapping her knuckle against the wooden door.

The humor in Emoria’s face is wiped clear and she looks down, sheepishly. “Sorry, Lady Yennefer. We didn’t mean to be so loud.”

But the raven-haired woman shakes her head, smiling at the girl. “No need to apologize. I hope to hear this riotous story one day,” she says, looking at Ciri who has straightened up. Ciri and Emoria share a look and Yennefer knows _ if _ she hears this tale, it will be a version that has been edited and watered down from the story Ciri just shared. But she decides not to dwell on it as she moves into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. A sheet of parchment rests on the nightstand, but Yennefer doesn’t read further than the ‘Geralt’ written near the top in Ciri’s neat handwriting. She fights against the sigh, telling herself she can’t keep those two from each other. It wouldn’t be fair. 

Yennefer sweeps a hand down Emoria’s thick brown hair, smiling as the girl leans back into the touch. “Tissaia wishes to tutor you. She’ll start you off on your lessons and once she’s gone Triss and I will take over.” 

The girl sighs and twists to look at the sorceress. “Okay,” she says. At the surprise in Yennefer’s eyes, Emoria smiles, shrugging as best she can while balancing her sister in her lap. “Ciri said it may happen.” 

“I know Tissaia well enough,” the witcher says as she squats in front of her wooden trunk. 

“Triss and I won’t be far.”

“I know,” Emoria says just as Yennefer finishes. The corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile, so similar to the one she gave Yennefer just last night. Then she moves off the bed, cradling her sister in her arms as she moves to Ciri. 

“See you in a few hours, kiddo,” the witcher says as she accepts the baby. Emoria shudders at this and Yennefer realizes that, yes, these lessons with Tissaia would likely rob the girl of her entire day. It was something the sorceress hated when she was under the archmage’s tutelage. 

“What subjects did you enjoy, Lady Yennefer?” Emoria asks as they descend the stairs. 

The sorceress grimaces. “I’m not sure ‘enjoy’ is the right word. I had interests and pursued those with vigor. I took a liking to enchantments and magics in that vein.”

“What about non-magical subjects?”

Yennefer thinks she hears a hint of sadness ring in the girl’s voice and reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “History. Specifically Elvish history and lore.” 

They spot Triss at the end of the hall. Her back is towards them as she peers into the sitting room. Yennefer feels Emoria start to tremble and squeezes the girl’s shoulder again, this time leaving her hand in place as they approach the redhead. 

“You’ll be fine,” the raven-haired woman whispers. “Don’t worry.” 

Emoria glances at her and nods. 

“Good. You’re here,” Tissaia says, emerging from the sitting room. She sweeps down the wrinkles in her dress and tucks a stray lock of hair back into her bun. She fixes her gaze on Emoria, her brown eyes softening as she senses the nervousness that radiates from the girl. “No need for trepidation. Despite the rumors you heard,” she says, eyeing both Yennefer and Triss, “I’m an excellent teacher.”

Emoria nods, but doesn’t move away until Yennefer gives her a gentle nudge. The raven-haired sorceress peeks inside the room, but sees no major modifications. The only addition is a small desk made from cherrywood and a chair that sits in the far corner of the room. It’s similar to the desks that filled the many classrooms in Aretuza and Yennefer knows that a section of the desk can be lifted to reveal items stored inside. 

Tissaia pauses before trailing the girl inside the room. “Shall I conjure stools for you two?” she asks with a slight tease. 

“Cushioned please,” Yennefer says. 

The archmage rolls her eyes, but as she crosses the threshold two short, cushioned stools appear against the wall and the two sorceresses take their seats. It only takes a few seconds for the women to reach for each other and hold hands. 

“She’ll be fine,” Triss whispers, low enough that it doesn’t carry into the room. Yennefer nods and settles against the wall as the lesson begins. 

An hour goes by. Philippa leaves the confines of her room and goes out the front door, not sparing a look in Yennefer or Triss’ direction. The redhead leans her head on Yennefer’s shoulder, fighting a losing battle against a post-breakfast doze. The raven-haired woman catches only snippets of the conversation inside the room and at one point, wonders if Tissaia cast a muffling spell around the room. She doesn’t sense magic and decides they’re speaking in low voices. But she does hear Emoria’s admission that she’s had very little education. 

“My mom knew some letters and taught them to me.”

“What about at the orphanage?” 

“I…” Emoria goes quiet, keeping the rest of her comment to herself. 

“It’s alright. Let’s start here.” 

Yennefer tips her head against the wall, letting her eyes slide shut. She doesn’t mean to fall asleep. But she knows by the slanting sunlight in the hall that a significant span of time has passed when she opens her eyes again. Her back aches from sitting with such poor posture for hours and she imagines Triss will experience similar pains when she wakes. 

“This is a good place to pause,” Tissaia says. “Let’s stop for today.”

“Thank you.” It’s not said with relief at being done for the day. But with genuine gratitude. And Yennefer accepts that the girl will be in good hands during these lessons. Emoria walks out the room, a slight skip to her step. 

“Good lesson today?” Yennefer asks as the girl stops near her arm. 

“Mhm.”

“Good. I believe Ciri is heading out for a bit if you wish to join her.”

Emoria chews the inside of her cheek, humming as she thinks. Tissaia stands behind her, placing her hands lightly on her shoulders. Yennefer is pleased the girl no longer flinches or shies away from the sorceresses' touches. 

“You deserve some fresh air and sunlight,” the archmage says. “Go find Cirilla.” Emoria slips upstairs. 

“How was it?” Triss asks. She sighs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

Tissaia exhales before she speaks. “She’s behind others her age. Which isn’t a surprise. But.” The woman pauses with a smile. “She’s smart and curious. She’ll go far. And she actually  _ listens  _ when I speak. She’s a standout pupil for that reason alone.” 

“We listened,” Triss says. Yennefer snorts, giving the redhead an innocent smile when she looks at her. 

“ _ You  _ listened,” Tissaia says. “Most days.”

The conversation ends as Emoria and Ciri, with Clarissa in her arms, climb downstairs and stand in front of the entrance. They’re all dressed for the outdoors, donning their cloaks to shield them from the slightly cool weather that awaits them on the other side of the threshold. 

“We’re going for a stroll,” Ciri calls, her grin stretching wide across her face. 

“Do you want to join?” Emoria asks. 

Triss and Yennefer share a look, coming to a silent decision in seconds. The redhead nods. “It’s a perfect day for an outing.” 

It takes little time for the sorceresses to dress and ready themselves. Ciri and Tissaia take the lead, though the young witcher is the one who establishes their first destination. Triss and Yennefer bring up the rear, with Emoria walking just a few paces ahead. She casts looks over her shoulder every few seconds, before snapping back to face the front. After the fourth time, she slows her pace though she’s still ahead of the sorceresses. Triss smiles at Yennefer and they wait, making space as soon enough Emoria slows once more and walks between them. 

Ciri leads them to a courier’s office and hands the baby to Tissaia before heading inside. 

“Letter to Geralt?” Triss asks, leaning towards Yennefer. 

“I believe so.” 

“Hm.”

But the young witcher doesn’t emerge until moments later, folding a worn sheet of paper and stuffing it into her side pocket. She avoids Emoria’s eyes and Yennefer’s. The sorceress knows without looking a bounty for a monster is written on the paper. Emoria may sense it as well because as the group leaves the office, the girl reaches over and slips her hands into Yennefer’s. And the sorceress squeezes.

But the outing doesn’t end on a somber note. Ciri wouldn’t let it. She leads the group, first, to a row of shops where they spend an hour browsing through the windows and sometimes stepping inside to patronize the store. Emoria gasps when she spots a cloak on a standee in the window, her tiny hand tightening in Yennefer’s. It costs little, the tailor practically throwing it in Yennefer’s arms when they enter. Out on the street, Emoria clasps the cloak under her chin and spins to the applause of the other women. When she’s done, she beams at the raven-haired sorceress saying ‘thank you’ over and over until she’s nearly breathless. Ciri pops into an apothecary, emerging with dried flowers and other ingredients for potions. And Tissaia wanders into the bookshop but her hands are conspicuously empty when she rejoins. 

As the sun begins to set, they stop in a tavern to dine. But Ciri suggests they take their food to an open space and watch the transition from twilight to dusk to night. With a basket weighed down with food and drink, they walk to a small hill. In the distance, they can see a road out of town that leads to Aldersburg. Triss conjures several checkered blankets and Emoria helps to spread them out over the grass. The food is placed in the middle and Tissaia passes goblets of wine as she finishes each pour. 

“Can I try some?” Emoria asks, already reaching for a glass. 

“No,” Triss says with a chuckle. 

But at some point in the meal, Yennefer thinks she sees Ciri slip the girl a small taste of wine. She doesn’t say anything, smiling and dismissing it as a trick of the eye.

The night is illuminated by a quarter moon and countless stars. Yenenfer rests her head on Triss’ shoulder, their fingers lacing together behind their backs. Clarissa snores softly in Ciri’s arms and Tissaia nurses the last dregs of her wine. Emoria watches the moon for a while, pulling her new cloak tight around her shoulders. She tosses her head back as she yawns and Yennefer snickers as Tissaia’s eyes narrow. Emoria scoots over to the two sorceresses and without prompting, leans against Triss’ other side, shutting her eyes. The redhead stiffens for a second and relaxes just as quickly before the girl can interpret the hesitation as some form of rejection. She wraps her free arm around Emoria’s shoulders, pulling her closer. 

After an hour and several discreet yawns from Tissaia, they decide to return home. Emoria is in a deep sleep, murmuring anytime Ciri taps her on the shoulder. The young witcher lifts the girl in her arms, making sure she’s tucked against her. And they set off.

“I think I better understand,” Tissaia whispers. She carries Clarissa. 

“Understand what?” Triss asks, blindly reaching for Yennefer’s hand. 

The archmage looks down at the baby before answering. “Why you two want to do this. It is peaceful. I’m far too old to act as a mother, but I understand.”

“What about grandmother?” Yennefer teases. Tissaia stops walking to glower at the raven-haired sorceress. “I jest,” the sorceress says, tossing up her hands in surrender. 

“Does that mean you’ll live with us?” Triss asks. Yennefer is quick to frown at this suggestion, though she loves Tissaia dearly. And it causes both the archmage and the young witcher to laugh. 

“I think it means, I’ll pop in for visits regularly.”

_ Another reserved room in our future home _ , Triss thinks. 

_ Yes _ , Yennefer says.  _ That would be lovely.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always get nervous right before I post a new chapter. Which is absurd because you all are supportive, sweet and kind. Honestly, you're the best readers I could ever hope for. I hope you enjoyed this new chapter. It's finally 'Love and Appreciate Emoria' o'clock! 
> 
> Sorry I didn't respond to all of the comments last chapter. But know that I read and cherish them. 
> 
> Take care! I hope to have another chapter up soon!


	16. The Witcher's Depature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my friend Carlie! Happy Birthday!

“I don’t want you to leave.” The waver in Emoria’s voice is clear, even down the hall in Yennefer’s bedroom. The sorceress pauses mid-brushstroke, pursing her lips together. She knew the girl wouldn’t take Ciri’s news well. It was only temporary. The witcher would be gone for a few weeks at most, by Yennefer’s estimation. But Emoria wouldn’t hear anything past “I’m leaving.”

The raven-haired sorceress rushes through the rest of her nighttime routine and exits her room, catching sight of Emoria’s heels as she runs downstairs. Ciri stands in her doorway, arms crossed over her chest and sighs. Green eyes lock with purple and both women smile. 

“I thought about turning down the job,” Ciri explains. “But it’s right outside Lyria. I can be there and back in a short time.”

Yennefer joins her daughter in her room, patting her on the shoulder as she enters. “I know. But Emoria’s still coming round to the idea that the people she cares about won’t abandon her. I’m not blaming you or criticizing your decisions,” she says when Ciri starts to respond. “It will be hard for her to let go with ease.”

“I told her I’d come back as soon as I could.”

“You did nothing wrong Ciri. Don’t worry. She just needs time.” Yennefer imagined by now Emoria had made her way to the sitting room where Triss and Tissaia were. She’d plant herself on the far end of the couch to sulk, before eventually scooting closer to the redhead and nestling into her. “She’ll come back after she’s processed it.”

Yennefer sits on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs. The bedroom is surprisingly cleaner than she expected. Though pieces of clothing sit in a pile in the wingback chair, while shirts and pants drape over its arms. She scans the nightstand, noting that the letter addressed the Geralt is gone. 

“What job awaits you in Lyria?”

“A griffon. It’s swooping down to pick off livestock.”

The sorceress hums. “You have everything you need to defeat it?”

“Yes,” Ciri says with a smile. “I stopped in the apothecary’s for that purpose.” 

The young witcher pulls supplies and clothing from her trunk and stuff them into various saddlebags. Yennefer watches her for a time, making small noises of disapproval whenever Ciri reaches for an item that wasn’t necessary. After the fourth time, the young woman glances over her shoulder, smile still firmly in place. 

“I know what I’m doing.”

“I know,” Yennefer says, bouncing her foot in the air. “I just don’t think you need twenty different trousers.”

“Don’t you travel with your entire makeup collection?”

“That’s a necessity.”

Ciri grins as she heeds Yenenfer’s advice and stores several pairs of pants back into her trunk. “Are you afraid I’ll pack all my clothes and never come back?” It’s meant to be rhetorical, punctuated by her soft chuckle. But Yennefer stills and glances towards the nightstand again. 

“Yes,” she whispers. 

It takes a moment for the young witcher to process the simple word. She stands, no longer laughing and her arms fall by her sides. “Yen? You can’t be serious.”

But the sorceress closes her eyes and cups her knee with her hands to hide their trembling. “I…” She looks into Ciri’s eyes and tries to speak around the weight that bears down on her chest. “Why don’t you call me ‘Mom’ anymore?”

The witcher’s mouth hangs open, the question stunning her so that she’s forced to sink into the mountain of clothing in the chair. She brings a hand to her forehead, rubbing it with three fingers and shuts her eyes. 

“Do you not see me as that anymore?”

“Of course I do!” Ciri grips the chair’s arms, looking at Yennefer with a serious expression. “You...You’ll always be my mother.”

Yennefer releases a shaky breath. “Then why do you call me ‘Yen’ or ‘Yennefer’?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers. Ciri pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them close to her. She stares down at the floor, at the pile of things that she still needs to pack. Her bottom lip trembles and a soft whimper escapes. “I don’t want to upset you.”

“You won’t be. I promise.”

Ciri pushes her palms into her eyes. Not hard enough to cause pain. But it holds back her tears. “When I came here and saw Triss I was disoriented,” she says. “And I’ve felt slightly off balance ever since.”

“Why?” 

“Please don’t think I’m not happy about you and Triss,” she says in a rush. “Because I am. You two love each other and it’s palpable and sweet and it makes me happy to see you in a better place. That’s all I want for you.”

Yennefer moves from the bed and sits on her knees in front of Ciri. Gently, so as not to spook the young woman, she grabs Ciri’s hands and pulls them away from her face so they can look at each other again. She bridges their fingers together and squeezes. “But this is about me and you. So tell me what’s going on?”

Ciri slowly relaxes, though her knees stay pressed against her chest. “I wanted to stay with you and Geralt, but I know that won’t happen. And I don’t want to remind you of him whenever I’m around. I don’t want to ruin this future you’re building with Triss.”

“You won’t ruin it.”

“But you two have to take care of Emoria and Clarissa. I don’t want to take time or attention or love from them.”

The sorceress searches her eldest daughter’s face, trying to understand how she could have miss this. But Ciri was raised in close proximity to sorceresses who were skilled at hiding their true feelings. Was it any surprise she picked up a tip or two on how to maintain the appearance of emotional serenity, while feeling anything but inside? 

Yennefer rises until she’s eye level with Ciri and cups the back of her neck to bring their foreheads together. They shut their eyes as silent tears run down their faces. “You think we’ve incapable of caring for all three of you at the same time?”

“I just thought I should step back, so you can be a mother to someone else.”

“Ciri, don’t do that. You’re my daughter. You’ll always be part of my future. And if you feel this way, come talk to me.”

The young witcher sniffles. “I wanted to. But I was afraid because I knew you needed to make Emoria feel comfortable.”

“I can multitask,” Yennefer says. She stands and pulls the young woman in for a hug, brushing her ashen hair with her hand. Ciri wraps her arms around the sorceress’ waist and sighs, melting into the embrace. “When you come back, we’re doing things as a family. I won’t let you distance yourself from us.”

“I’d like that,” Ciri whispers against her nightgown. She mumbles and whimpers again, forcing Yennefer to look down. The young witcher leans back enough to look into the sorceress’ face. For a second, Yennefer can see the mousy girl that she met all those years ago. A shy, feisty child who was the last of a kingdom that was a smoldering ruin now. Her ashen brows knit together as she thinks on something. Then she smiles, wide and bright, like she did back when their relationship was starting to thaw. “I’d like that a lot, Mom.”

Yennefer stoops to kiss her forehead and hide the shock on her own face. “I’m glad, daughter.”

And they stay in each other’s arms until the telltale creaking of the stairs and several pairs of feet climbing to the upper landing. Emoria stands on the top level, her back intentionally turned towards Ciri’s open door. Triss appears next, a soft smile on her face. And Tissaia brings up the rear, smirking. 

The redhead wraps an arm around Emoria’s shoulders, guiding her to Ciri’s bedroom. The girl frowns, crosses her arms across her chest but doesn’t resist being pulled into the room by the sorceress. Triss hugs the girl close to her and twists so they’re face to face with Ciri and Yennefer. The raven-haired sorceress bites back a smile as she realizes Emoria is trying to appear angry. But she’s quickly losing that battle, despite avoiding Ciri’s green eyes. 

“Is it alright if Emoria sleeps with you tonight?” Triss asks. The girl folds her arms tighter across her chest. “She claims the sofa is a bit uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind.” Ciri leaps to her feet, but Emoria steps out of Triss’ arms and pulls back the covers, choosing the side closest to her sister’s crib. She peeks in, kissing Clarissa goodnight. 

“I still don’t want you to go,” comes Emoria’s whispered response, her back towards Ciri and the others. Triss sits on the edge of the bed. 

“We talked about this,” she says. “She has her Path to follow.”

Ciri steps away from Yennefer and climbs on the bed, kneeling, though there’s plenty of space between her and the girl. She touches Emoria’s shoulder. “I’ll come back. I promise. And I’ll write to you.”

Emoria flattens on the mattress as she releases a heavy sigh. “Where are you going?”

“To the next kingdom over. Lyria.”

“I’ve never been there.” The girl scoots closer to the young witcher and Ciri sits on the bed, letting her back rest against the headboard. 

“It’s beautiful,” Ciri says. She goes into detail, mentioning the lush forest land that separates the various cities and towns and the rolling hills where animals like to gather and hunt. Lured out of her fear by the young witcher’s words, Emoria relaxes under the covers and rolls over to face the young woman. Yennefer, Triss and Tissaia watch for a moment, each sorceress in quiet awe. Then they bid Ciri and Emoria ‘good night,’ silently make their way out into the room and shut the door behind them. But the voices can be heard from behind the wooden door, even as Yennefer and Triss climb down the stairs and Tissaia retires to her room. 

***

It’s close to nine in the morning. Ciri leads her horse to the front of the house and ties the saddle and saddlebags to the animal. Emoria holds an apple in her palm, offering it to the horse to keep it calm. Triss rubs her eyes and suppresses a yawn as she adjusts Clarissa’s weight on her hip. Tissaia finishes her lukewarm cup of coffee. And Yennefer frets. 

“Are you sure you have everything?” 

“Yes,” Ciri says, chuckling. “I’m positive.” 

“Did you double check?” Emoria says from her spot in front of the horse. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Emoria grins and wipes her hand on her pants once the apple is gone. Ciri secures the final strap and clears the sweat away with the back of her arm. She hugs Tissaia first, squeezing tight until the Archmage protests and leans away. Then it’s Triss’ turn. The redhead cups Ciri’s cheek and makes her swear to stay safe. 

“I swear,” Ciri says, pinching Clarissa’s check. 

Yennefer holds her eldest daughter close to her, smiling as the young witcher lifts her off the ground. The sorceress tells herself not to worry. Griffons are ferocious, dangerous beasts. But Ciri, a woman raised by a school of witchers and sorceresses, was just as dangerous as any creature that stalked the Continent. Still, Yennefer was a mother. 

“Be safe, my daughter.”

Ciri shuts her eyes, inhales that familiar scent and nods. “I will, Mom.”

Emoria stands close to the horse, fingering the leather stirrup. Ciri kneels on one leg so they’re eye level. 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” the young witcher says, in a light, teasing tone, hoping to bring a smile to the girl’s face.

“I’ll miss you,” the girl whispers. She turns her wide, brown eyes on Ciri, the tears threatening to fall at any moment. The words stun the sorceress and the young witcher. 

Ciri pulls the girl into her arms in a tight embrace. “I’ll miss you too, Emoria,” she says. “I’ll miss you so very much.” They continue to hug until Emoria decides to let go. Ciri tussles her hair and rises to her feet. 

“Can you bring the griffon’s head back?”

But a quick look in Yennefer’s direction and the sudden frown on her face is answer enough for Ciri. “Uh, I’ll bring you another gift.” 

As the young witcher climbs into the saddle and checks one final time that everything is secured, Emoria stands next to the raven-haired sorceress. 

“I’m off,” Ciri says, extending her arm in the air in one final goodbye. The women wave and wish her luck on her mission, watching as she walks the horse out onto the main street and towards the city’s gates. Emoria reaches for Yennefer’s hand, her eyes never straying from the witcher. 

“She’ll be back,” the girl whispers. 

Yennefer nods. “In just a few short weeks.” 

Emoria is quiet. Yennefer has learned this is when the girl is deep in thought, weighing the pros and cons of whatever she wants to say. 

“But,” the girl says, her voice softer, her eyes still on the dot that is Ciri, “I still have you and Lady Triss.” 

“Yes,” Yennefer says, matching her soft voice. “Yes, you do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, I'll post a new chapter at a decent hour and not at *checks the time* one AM like a ghoul! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this short(ish) chapter. Honestly, these next few chapters are going to nothing but fluff. Emoria continues to make me smile whenever she's shy and seeking attention from Yennefer or Triss. And don't worry, Ciri is definitely coming back. She's going to miss her two new sisters! 
> 
> Continue to stay safe whoever you are! Much love to you all! Your support continues to make my day! I'll update soon!


	17. Who Do You Miss?

Yennefer expected moping. She anticipated Emoria withdrawing into herself once again, walking around with crossed arms, slumped shoulders and a deep frown. She was prepared for the silent treatment and hidden glimpses towards the window. And she believed it would all start within an hour or two of Ciri’s departure. 

Which to her credit, Emoria started  _ something _ nearly two hours after Ciri bid them all a temporary farewell. But that something was so far down Yennefer’s list of expected behaviors and ways of lashing out, that she was unprepared. 

The girl was pacing. Walking the length of the hallway. Poking her head around corners and into different rooms, searching for Ciri. She had walked the entirety of the house several times, the stairs creaking and groaning anytime the young girl climbed or descended the steps. She greets the sorceresses any time their paths cross and sits in a corner for all of five minutes before getting up and resuming her pacing. Yennefer wasn’t sure of how to approach her and comfort her when Emoria held so much kinetic energy. 

On Emoria’s fifth pass by Yennefer’s study, the girl pauses, her left foot slightly off the ground in midstep and locks eyes with the sorceress who observes her with a soft smile. 

“She hasn’t been gone that long,” Yennefer says. Her chin rests on the back of her hands. Emoria lets her foot land on the wooden floorboards and sighs.

“I know,” she whispers, twisting her fingers together. “But I miss her.”

“I miss her too.” Yennefer tilts her head to the side, her smile dampening just a fraction. She starts to think about Ciri, pictures her on the open road that leads to the next kingdom. But before she allows herself to sink into self-pitying or to wallow in her own invented fears, she remembers Emoria is watching her, ever carefully, looking to Yennefer for some guidance on how to act. With a wave, the sorceress beckons the girl inside the room. Emoria slinks in, her hands swaying limply at her side as she claims a spot on one of the sofas. Yennefer rises and sits next to her, smoothing down the strands of hair that were loosened from her ponytail during her pacing. 

They sit in comfortable silence as Yennefer thinks about what to do. Two minutes later, Triss finds them and enters, donning a soft smile as she observes the raven-haired sorceress and the young girl. She takes the open spot on Emoria’s other side and leans forward so she can look into Emoria’s face.

“What can we do for you right now?” the redhead asks.

Emoria resumes twisting and contorting her fingers, but Yennefer reaches over and touches her hands to encourage her to stop. The girl closes her eyes, inhales through her nose and holds the breath for a second before exhaling through her mouth. A meditative trick. Something Ciri taught her. 

“I don’t want to be a bother,” she says, avoiding the sorceresses’ eyes. 

“Emoria, this is a home,” Yennefer says slowly. “This can be  _ your _ home if you allow it. You’re not a bother to us.” 

Triss nods. “How can we make you more comfortable?”

The girl’s head jerks up, her mouth open like a fish pulled from the pond as she stares back and forth between the two women. “I am comfortable.”

Yennefer almost believes her. Indeed, she’s more relaxed than when she first appeared. Ciri played a major role in that regard. But now that the witcher was back on her Path, Emoria was left without her safety net. Or so she thought. 

She lowers her head again. “I just want reassurance,” the girl whispers. She starts to swing her legs in the air. Yennefer looks at it, but decides to let the girl expend her nervous energy somehow. “I know Ciri said she’s coming back and I believe her.”

“But you’re also afraid?” Triss asks. Emoria nods, still looking everywhere but their faces. “You know what I think?” 

“What?”

Triss chews the inside of her cheek as she thinks. Yennefer looks at her, curious to hear what insight she would offer the girl who was clearly wrestling with some deep rooted fear. 

“I think,” the redhead says slowly. “It’s hard to accept that people can and will walk out of your life. Sometimes it’s only for a spell. Sometimes it’s for a longer period of time. And sometimes, people leave and never return.”

Emoria’s fingers twitch under Yennefer’s palm and the raven-haired sorceress squeezes her hand. Triss touches the girl’s shoulder before continuing.

“But no matter how painful it is, we can’t shut ourselves away or try to hide from it. We have to let it wash over us and reach out to those around us when we need to.”

“So maybe for now all you need is some reassurance that Ciri’s coming back,” Yennefer says. “But if you need something more, whether it’s in an hour or tomorrow or in a few days or a week from now, come to us. We’ll help you.”

“Promise?”

Both women smile and nod. “Promise,” Triss says. Emoria starts to lean over for a hug, but stills at the soft knock on the open door. Tissaia clasps her hands in front of her. 

“Sorry to disturb,” she says. “Do you feel up for a lesson today? We’ll make it a short one.”

Emoria considers it for a moment and nods. She hops off the sofa and spins on her heel, opening her arms wide so she can pull both sorceresses in for a hug. Then she’s out the room and heading to her desk in the other room. Tissaia lingers, smirking slightly. 

“You’re not joining us today?”

Triss reaches for Yennefer’s hand as the raven-haired sorceress opens her mouth to respond. 

“I think we’ll pass,” Triss says. 

“For today,” Yennefer adds. 

Tissaia tips her head in acknowledgment and follows the girl into the other room. 

Triss squeezes their hands and rises. “Stop antagonizing Tissaia,” she says, before giving Yennefer a quick peek. 

“We’re just joking.”

“Uh-huh” Triss leans in for another kiss. “I’ll cook Emoria’s favorite for dinner tonight.”

“Isn’t her favorite meal omelettes?” Yennefer asks, quirking a brow.

“Then we’ll have breakfast for dinner.” Triss starts for the hallway. 

“I look forward to it.”

That night, as Triss sets the platter of omelettes on the table, Emoria’s eyes widen and she tries to hold in the tiny squeal. She eats two, making a decent attempt at devouring a third. But stops halfway through, pushing the plate away with one hand while rubbing her stomach over the top of her blouse. Her eyes start to droop as the women open a bottle of red wine to cap off their night. But Emoria refuses to go to bed early and stays at the table while the sorceresses talk. 

They make changes to the sleeping arraignment. Tissaia claims Ciri’s empty room, giving Yennefer and Triss their room back. Though they offer it to Emoria, who turns it down. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Triss asks. They’re in the living room now, with a fresh fire in the hearth. Emoria is dressed in a long tunic, the covers drawn close to her chin. She yawns into her open palm, before tucking her hands under her head. Triss sits near the girl’s legs and pinches the top of the covers. Yennefer leans against the armrest with her arms folded loosely in front of her chest. 

“This is fine,” Emoria says, sinking deeper into the cushions.

“Positive?” Yennefer asks. 

The girl twists to look at her and nods, flashing Yenenfer a wide grin. It’s enough to comfort the sorceress, though she still wishes they had a room to give the girl. Tissaia and Philippa were planning to leave soon, to return to their travels across the Continent. Once they were gone, Emoria could reclaim her room and once again sleep in the comfort of her bed. 

The two women bid the young girl goodnight and go to their room, stopping by Tissaia’s room to retrieve Clarissa and her crib. After running through their nighttime routine and tucking the baby in for the night, Yennefer and Triss climb into bed, share a quick kiss and turn in. 

But the raven-haired sorceress is awakened in the middle of the night. She hears the door creak open and senses a new presence standing at the side of her bed. Her eyes still closed, she reaches in the open space for Emoria. 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she whispers. 

Her eyes open when she hears a deep hiccup and a shuddering sob. In the moonlight that slips through the window, she sees tears tracking down the girl’s cheeks as she holds her arms close to her chest. Yennefer pushes up onto her elbow, startling Triss out of her sleep. The raven-haired woman scoots out from under her lover’s arm, inching closer to the edge of the bed and the girl just on the other side.

“What’s going on?” Triss asks, bleary eyed, her words slurring together as she slowly grows alert. 

Emoria hiccups again and brings a fist to her face to wipe her eyes. “I miss,” she says, speaking through a sob. 

Yennefer reaches for her, her hand brushing against the girl’s shoulder. “Ciri?” she offers. “It’s okay. We miss her too.”

But the girl shakes her head, almostly violently. “I miss,” she says again. She looks out the window. Looks back at Yennefer and launches herself into the sorceress’ stomach. “I miss my parents,” she says against the fabric of the Yennefer’s chemise. “I miss my mom and dad.” Her arms tighten around the sorceress’ waist as she cries. 

Yennefer holds the girl close to her and twists to look at Triss. “Pull back the covers some.”

The redhead complies and scoots to make space. It’s difficult maneuvering, but Yennefer manages to pull Emoria into bed, turning so that the girl is in the space between the two sorceresses. Without pausing her sobs, Emoria shifts and adjusts so she’s still comfortably clinging to the raven-haired sorceress. Her tremors are strong enough to shake Yennefer and the woman bites back her own tears as she tries comforting the crying child. Triss rubs the girl’s back, shushing her and promising her that everything would be okay. 

But it falls on deaf ears. Emoria sobs are broken by whispered apologies, questions of why she wasn’t good enough and pleas for another chance. Yennefer is torn between utter heartbreak and uncontrollable rage. She wants to direct her ire at Granger who, no doubt, fed lies to the girl and played into her insecurities and fears of abandonment. But a part of her wishes she could hunt down Emoria and Clarissa’s parents. She wants to shake them and demand answers to why they abandoned their children. She knows it’s not easy for the commonfolk and recognizes the privilege her financial situation grants her and Triss. 

Still, Yennefer fears what life for Emoria must have been like before she was left at the orphanage. She can only imagine the pain and sadness that built up inside the girl everyday she was forced to face whatever ill feelings her parents held towards her and her sister. Her stomach churns at the thought of this sweet girl sitting with that pain inside of her with no way to unleash it and no one to walk with her through the misery and trauma. It’s the image of Emoria shedding silent tears in the orphanage, shaking as she tries to hold in her sob that finally causes Yennefer to crack and start to cry. 

“I’m sorry,” Emoria whispers, though the words aren’t meant for the sorceresses. “I’ll do better, I promise.”

Yennefer’s heart shatters and staring across at Triss, she’s unsurprised by the few tears seeping out the corners of her blue eyes. The redhead tosses her arm over Yennefer’s hips, pulling both woman and child close to her. 

Emoria cries until she’s exhausted and falls asleep still hugging the raven-haired sorceress. Yennefer’s chemise is soaked from the girl’s tears, but she doesn’t move or make any attempts at trying to change. She doesn’t want to wake Emoria or cause her any discomfort. 

Triss reaches over and touches her cheek. “Try to get some rest.”

“Do you think you can sleep after that?”

“Only fitfully,” she admits. “But we should try. We’ll need the energy for the morning.” 

Yennefer looks down at Emoria nestled between them, in awe of the peacefulness on sleeping girl’s face. She can’t see Clarissa in the crib behind Triss, but imagines the baby has a similar expression as she snoozes. Despite the near hour that Emoria sobbed and begged for her parents to return, the room felt calm once more. “I suppose,” Yennefer says. As she closes her eyes and tries to quiet her mind for sleep, Yennefer feels Emoria stir and inch up on the bed so her head rests on a pillow. She feels Triss splay her fingers on her hips and her thumb rub soothing circles. She tells herself to calm down, to accept this small comfort of being engulfed in her lover’s arms as the child they care for rests between them. 

And she feels a bit better. She knows that with Emoria’s admission, they’ve reached a new peak in the girl’s inner anguish. Yennefer tells herself it will improve from here. It has to get better from here. So she sleeps. It’s not a deep sleep. She can’t allow that when Emoria could still be emotionally vulnerable. But she does her best, falling into a light slumber that lasts for the duration of the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss you all! I hope you like this new chapter! Sorry for the angst. But like Yennefer suspects, it can only get better from here! 
> 
> I promise to upload a new chapter soon and it will be a lot happier than this one. Until then, continue to stay safe and take care of yourselves! 
> 
> PS- we've definitely reached and gone past the halfway point in this story. I have a very rough estimate of how many chapters it will take to reach the conclusion and it's still at least 5 chapters away. But I wanted to prepare you for the eventual ending. (Don't worry, it's a happy one!)


	18. Comfortable Mornings, Gardens & Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on a roll with this story! Which means another chapter for you all in a short span of time! Enjoy!

Yennefer can tell by the snores that Triss and Clarissa are still asleep. And that Emoria is not. 

“I’m sorry.”

It’s the first thing she hears clearly in the morning, the girl’s throat sore and raw from crying last night. Yennefer opens her eyes and smiles. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Emoria lays on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She’s still tucked under both Yennefer and Triss’ arms. The sorceress takes it as a positive sign that the girl made no attempt at moving or freeing herself from their embrace. She opens her mouth to speak. 

“But I…”

“Emoria, you have no reason to apologize,” Yennefer repeats. “In fact, I’m proud of you.”

“F-for what?” she asks, blushing. 

“For doing as we asked. For coming to us when you needed something.”

The girl listens quietly, digesting Yennefer’s words. She closes her eyes and takes that deep, meditative breath. She rolls to her side, facing the raven-haired sorceress who gives her a soft smile.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” 

Emoria looks away. “I don’t want to wake Lady Triss.”

“Then we’ll go somewhere else.”

But Triss’ arm tightens around both of them. “No, don’t,” she whines. “You’re both warm and I’m comfortable.”

“So you  _ are  _ awake?” Yennefer teases.

“Nope,” the redhead says. “I am asleep. I can carry a conversation in my sleep.” 

“Somehow I don’t doubt that,” the other sorceress says. She looks at Emoria, grinning. “Well it seems we’re trapped here.”

The girl giggles. “I don’t mind. It is really warm in here.” 

“Good,” Triss says. “Now, back to Yen’s question. Do you want to talk to us about last night?” Triss cracks open an eye to look at the girl. 

Emoria runs her tongue across her lips and slides closer to Yennefer. It’s an unconscious movement, a way for her to seek an extra bit of comfort. “I thought about what you said Lady Triss. About how people can leave and sometimes never come back. It made me think and think and think until my head started to hurt. But I wondered about my parents. I don’t think they’re coming back.” She wipes her eyes and sniffles. 

“When they gave us to Granger,” she continues, “I begged them to take us. My dad couldn’t look at me. And mom, she...she swore they’d come back in a few weeks. But it’s been months since I last saw them. Seeing Ciri leave yesterday, reminded me of when our parents left. I’m so afraid that people will keep leaving us. That they’ll keep leaving me and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Triss’ gaze flicks up to Yennefer, silently asking her to take the lead. Which the raven-haired sorceress is happy to do. She slides up to lean against the headboard, pulling the girl up with her, smiling as Emoria hugs her tightly. Triss props herself on her elbow, letting her cheek rest in her palm. 

“Emoria, how old are you?” Yennefer asks. 

The girl blinks, a look of confusion crossing her face as she tries to determine where this question came from. “Nine,” she says. 

Yennefer stores that tidbit of information for later use and guesses Triss does the same as well. “Much too young to try and control the actions of others, especially adults,” she says. “If people leave, it’s not your fault. And there’s nothing you can change about yourself that will stop it from happening. Ciri  _ will _ come back and we’ll repeat it over and over to you if you’d like.”

“But my parents won’t?” she asks. “Be honest Lady Yennefer.”

“Probably not,” the sorceress admits with a deep sigh. “But it doesn’t mean they didn’t love you or that it wasn’t hard for them to turn you over to the orphanage. And it certainly doesn’t mean you could have done anything to prevent it. I know it all too well. Whatever caused your parents to leave was a reflection of them, not on you.”

It took her decades to get to that point. To accept that her parents’ decision to ‘sell’ her to Tissaia, to abuse her for her hunchback and ‘deformed’ jaw, to loathe her for her quarter Elven blood was because of their own deep rooted fears and anxieties. There was nothing she could have done to make them love her or offer her support or care. Her parents were consumed by their own irrational fears of who she was and how she was meant to be treated. It was a fool’s errand to wish for a change of heart or a different outcome. 

Emoria wipes her eyes. “I just want people to stay,” she whispers. 

Yennefer bites back her first response of ‘we’ll stay,’ a knee-jerk reaction to comfort and placate the girl. That’s not what she wants to hear. And they would only ring hollow if Yennefer and Triss fail to prove it through their actions. Or if Granger finds a way to seize the girls and drag them back to the orphanage. 

“People will stay,” Triss says. “I know it’s hard to believe. And we may be putting a lot on you by asking you to blindly believe us. But both Yen and I know the right people will stay. Trust us, okay?” 

Emoria looks directly at the redhead’s face, her lips drawn into a small smile. She nods. “Okay,” she whispers. “I trust you and Lady Yennefer.”

“Good,” the raven-haired sorceress says. “And in the meantime, don’t feel like you need to hide your feelings. Especially when you’re in this house.” 

“Yen and I have had decades of practice reading other people’s emotions.” 

Emoria smiles, nodding her head once. 

“Do you feel better?” Yennefer asks, squeezing Emoria’s shoulder.

“Mhm. A lot better.”

Triss tussles the girl’s hair and sits up on her knees. She peeks into the crib and her grin is bright and cheery as she lifts Clarissa from her crib and cradles her in arms. Emoria looks at the pair softly, leaning into Yennefer’s side. The sorceress feels a serenity in the room as they share this quiet morning together. She doesn’t want to let this go. Now or ever. 

It’s hard convincing anyone to climb out of bed. But ten minutes pass, then twenty and thirty. Emoria’s stomach growls, with Triss’ responding mere seconds later. They all laugh, still comfortable in the large bed. But they make no attempts at leaving the room until Clarissa starts to cry and search for food. Triss holds her close, patting her back gently as they descend into the kitchen.

The day carries on as usual after breakfast. Emoria and Tissaia head into the sitting room to resume their lessons. It’s a sunny, cloudless day and Triss goes out to the small backyard to begin a garden. She stuffs old blankets and quilts in a wicker basket and places Clarissa inside, setting it under the shade of a tree so the sun doesn’t overheat the child. Yennefer considers going out to join them, but performs some basic household chores. 

Lunch comes and goes and finally Yennefer decides to do something that requires very little mental or physical stimulation on her part. She tips her head at Tissaia as they pass in the hall, Yennefer heading to the open backdoor, Tissaia up to her room. She glances in the direction of the sitting room, expecting to see Emoria hunched over her desk. But she stops, peering into the room with a small smile as she observes the girl. 

“A good student,” Tissaia had said, repeating it over and over whenever Triss or Yennefer asked. Yet, surely this wasn’t the appropriate behavior of a ‘good student’ Yennefer thought. Though she wasn’t going to steal the girl’s moment of joy and curiosity. 

Emoria sits with her knees in a chair, her hands on the open windowsill and the top half of her face peeking over the edge. Triss’ hum carries through the open window, into the house and Yennefer catches the softest notes from her spot in the hallway. She ends the song midway and chuckles. 

“Aren’t you in the middle of a lesson?” the redhead asks.

Emoria jumps. “T-Tissaia went to relieve herself.”

“And you decided to take a break?”

Yennefer leans against the doorpost, listening to the exchange. The girl’s back is towards her, but Triss would spot the raven-haired woman easily once she stood. 

“It’s sunny outside,” the girl answers. 

“Yes, it’s a gorgeous day.”

“And I was curious.”

“About?” There’s a playful lilt in Triss’ voice and the girl finally relaxes. 

Emoria leans her head further out the window. “About what you’re doing.”

“Gardening.”

“Isn’t it too early to start?”

Triss hums. “A bit. But with extra care and some magic, the seedlings will be okay.” Finally she rises, wiping sweat from her brow and stretching her arms upwards. Her red hair is tied up by a bandana, borrowed from Yennefer’s wardrobe. Wet strands cling to the back of her neck and forehead. Her cheeks are rosy from the exertion and her cornflower blue eyes are cheerful and clear as they take in Emoria, before glancing over her shoulder at the raven-haired sorceress. She smiles, never breaking contact with Yennefer. 

“Would you like to help me?”

Emoria looks down. “Tissaia will be upset.”

“It’s nothing Yen and I can’t handle.”

At this, the girl finally realizes they’re not alone. She twists, looking over her shoulder at Yennefer who has stepped inside the room. Emoria gasps and hops from the chair to rush back to the desk and the heavy tome that she’s supposed to be studying. 

“Don’t worry,” Triss says. It’s her turn to lean through the window. “I suspect Yennefer’s on our side.” 

The raven-haired woman reaches the desk and glances over the loose leaf sheets. Splotches of ink stain the wood and the quill teeters on the edge, carelessly thrown aside as soon as the archmage left the room. She studies the scribbles and scrawls on the lines, making out the semblances of letters and words. Emoria had a while to go before her penmanship was ‘adequate’ by Tissaia’s standards, but she was improving even if she still possessed a nervous, shaky hand.

“I hated lettering when I was a student,” Yennefer mutters. 

“My hand would always cramp,” Triss adds. Emoria flexes her own hands as though she feels a similar pang in her fingers and wrists. Her eyes track Yennefer’s movement as the woman sets the paper back on the desk. 

“Tissaia said I’m far behind others my age.”

“Through no fault of your own,” Yennefer says. There’s a groaning overhead. The distinct noise that someone’s moving about in a bedroom. “You want to help Triss?” The girl nods her head so hard, the sorceress worries she may cause some harm to herself. Still, Yennefer smiles and jerks towards the window. 

“Be quick,” she says. “But know that you’ll have to make this up after dinner tonight.”

Emoria giggles. It’s close to the sound Clarissa makes when someone pinches her. She goes for the window first, stopping when both sorceresses frown at her. Then in a flash, she’s racing down the hall and out the back door, standing right in front of Triss. 

“I’ll be gentle with the flowers, I swear,” the girl says, catching her breath. 

“Even if you’re not, it’s okay,” Triss says. “Magic can mend most damage.” 

Yennefer hears Tissaia on the steps. “Enjoy. I’ll keep Tissaia busy.”

“Thank you Lady Yennefer.”

The archmage is on alert as soon as her eyes land on the raven-haired sorceress. “Yennefer…”

“Don’t be a sourpuss and let her have some fun,” she says, locking arms with her old mentor. She drags the woman to the cellar. “I have casks of aged wines that are begging to be open and I’d love to share some of it with you. And before you say anything, I told Emoria she’d have to make it up this evening.”

There are worry lines on Tissaia’s forehead, but she doesn’t resist being led to the stash of wine. “I will hold you to that.”

Yennefer waves away the comment, squatting to peer at the information written on the front of the casks. Most are bold, full-bodied reds that have sat untouched for decades. One or two were for special occasions and she didn’t consider them. There were a handful that were newer whites and still retained some sweetness. Finally, she pulled out a classic white that was purchased from a merchant outside of Gors Velen. She conjures two wine glasses, lifting the wine with a simple levitation spell. The cellar isn’t the best place for company, the stones radiating nothing but coolness to keep the room and wine chilled. And there are no windows for them to enjoy the wonderfully nice day. So she takes them to the kitchen, pushing a tap into the cask and pouring two healthy doses. 

Tissaia accepts her glass, taking a small sip. “Too bad Philippa isn’t around. She’d enjoy this, though she’s more of a red wine drinker.”

“Hm. Where has the owl flown to today?”

“The same place she flies to since she discovered you and Triss were together. Ellander.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow and looks at her mentor. “What’s in Ellander?”

“The Temple of Melitele.”

Starting to grow annoyed, the raven-haired sorceress goes to ask for more specifics, but the realization hits her almost immediately. Ah yes. Melitele and the priestesses who worshipped her. The women who Yennefer handed Sheala to, trusting that if anyone could save her, it would be these strange acolytes. That was well over two years ago, before the final fight with the Wild Hunt. After that battle, Yennefer spent most of her time in isolation, avoiding most who she considered to be friends or beloved acquaintances. But she made it a point to visit Sheala and check on her progress. 

When she and Geralt found Sheala and Margarita in Radovid’s dungeons, she couldn’t hold back her sobs. Sheala said she was dying and wanted to go with dignity. She asked Yennefer to take what little breath she had left, but the raven-haired sorceress couldn’t bring herself to do it. Sheala’s connection with magic had been cut off for too long, the dimertium cuffs leaving a dark, maroon bruise on her wrist. But Yennefer swore that she could still be saved. 

Yennefer portaled Margarita to the Nilfgaardian camp, before opening another portal to the temple at the edges of Temeria. She fell on her knees and begged Nenneke to save her friend. After Assire, she couldn’t stand to lose another dear sister. The high priestess agreed and Sheala’s bruised, broken body was carted off to a hidden portion of the temple. 

“I will do what I can,” Nenneke had said. “But I don’t work in miracles.”

Yennefer didn’t expect one, yet somehow in the end, the acolytes had stabilized Sheala. It was a long road to recovery, one she was still on. But she was doing better, instilling herself among the healers and learning as much as she could about their ways. She was always the scholar in the Lodge, the one who wished for solitude and a place to perform her studies. She didn’t get the solitude, but at least she could learn until her head was full with new bits of techniques and knowledge.

The raven-haired sorceress runs a hand through her hair, unsure of how to process or move forward with the news Tissaia just revealed. Philippa was visiting Sheala, on a daily basis, which was good. They both could use a shoulder to lean on. But she didn’t understand how these visits were influenced by her and Triss’ relationship. 

The archmage smiles. “Yenna, come now. You can’t be that dense.” 

“No?” she says, her eyes widening. “Sheala and Philippa?”

Tissaia opens her mouth, intending to say something clever. But pauses, clearly changing her words. “Once upon a time, yes they were ‘together’ by whatever standards they used to define it. Though things may change with these visits.”

“Holy shit. Does Triss know?”

“Possibly,” Tissaia says, taking a sip of wine. “She was a bit more receptive in that department.”

Yennefer finishes her wine in one long swig and gets up to refill her glass. Her head is spinning from the information and she can’t understand  _ how  _ she never spotted it. Sheala and Philippa were close, always in on the other’s schemes. But when and how did that translate to a romantic affair? Or, how did Sheala convince Philippa to maintain some type of romantic  _ thing  _ for however long it lasted? 

“Why now?” Yennefer asks once she’s seated again. 

Tissaia twirls her glass on the table, watching the liquid swirl along the walls. “Because we shouldn’t deny ourselves this simple joy any longer.”

“We? Philippa and Sheala? You and…?”

“Margarita,” she says with a chuckle, her cheeks turning rosy from something other than the wine. “You and Triss are happy. I wish to experience it for myself. I imagine Philipppa feels similarly. Children aren’t in our future, though I hope you will continue to share your girls with us.”

Yennefer nods, growing serious for the first time since they sat. “Of course! Triss and I would never deny you that.” 

Tissaia releases a shaky breath. “I’ve been in contact with Rita a bit. She’d love Emoria and Clarissa.”

“I look forward to them meeting one day. Where is she now?”

“On the coast of Kovir. Losing the few students she had left was hard on her. But I think she’s owed a visit and a good ear to speak to.”

Yennefer leans across the table, placing her hand on top of Tissaia’s. It trembles and the raven-haired sorceress is surprised that the archmage is capable of such nervousness. It’s cute. “Rita would love that,” she says. With her free hand, Tissaia tucks a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear, her smile turning bashful. 

There were days when Yennefer questioned the point of the brutality she and the other sorceresses endured. She believed all the violence to be senseless and to cause harm that would last for centuries to come. The Lodge changed the course of history several times, in the process often turning on each other to gain the upper hand. It made Yennefer sick causing her to walk away from that life. To leave the scheming and the backstabbing behind her for good. 

Then Triss appeared on her doorstep, shivering from the cold with a snowstorm disrupting her travels and suddenly Yennefer found a small reason to endure the pain from the past. She saw a woman who had suffered just as she had, mourned and cried and fought for her place in this world. And for the first time in years, the raven-haired sorceress felt a little less alone. The more time she and Triss spent together, the more Yennefer was able to look beyond all the pain, the blood shed and the death that haunted her nightmares. Instead she remembered the peaceful days at Aretuza and the slow joy she felt when she made her first real friend in Triss. She thought of her travels and all the colorful people she encountered. She thought of her time with Ciri, training the young girl and enjoying a bit of levity after her blindness post-Sodden. 

As she looked at Triss that night and all the nights after, Yennefer felt a deep bond that reached beyond her heart to touch something more ethereal. And maybe she wasn’t alone. Tissaia and Philippa were both exploring relationships with women they loved and adored, even if they were slow to use those words.

Finally, after all these years they were shedding the pain of their past and embracing a hazy, but pleasant future with the ones that they were most connected to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know a fair amount of sorceresses can die in the Witcher games. But I choose to ignore that in the name of love haha. So yeah, Sheala is alive and well and living a happy life among the healers. And now we know where Philippa is going to every day!
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm feeling really good about this story, so maybe there will be another update later this week. 
> 
> Stay safe my friends! Until next time! xoxo


	19. A Cozy Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this long chapter! It's pure fluff!

By the time Triss and Emoria finish their work in the garden, Yennefer and Tissaia have gone through half the wine in the cask. The two sorceresses lean on the table to keep steady and laugh at even their mundane jokes. Yennefer brightens up when Emoria and Triss enter the kitchen. The girl bounces up to her, holding out her hand which the sorceress is quick to take. 

“Come see what we did,” she says, excitement radiating from her. 

Yennefer stands, a bit wobbly and follows the girl out to the backyard with Tissaia trailing them. The archmage gasps, while the raven-haired woman’s jaw hangs loose. She’s not surprised Triss managed to transform her meager yard in such a short amount of time. But she’s still stunned by the beauty of it. 

Flowers of different hues, heights and stages of blooming cover nearly every inch of the back area. The grass is lush, vibrant and trimmed to the perfect length. Tucked away, under the shade of the lone tree among the flowers, is a rough-hew log bench and just a few paces away, in the sunlight, sat a circular iron table with several matching chairs. A bouquet of fresh picked flowers sit in a ceramic vase on top of the table, fresh dew still on the petals. Triss uses the back of her arm to clear sweat from her forehead and beams at her accomplishment. Her cheeks are pink from too much magical exertion. Yennefer feels a tinge of guilt, realizing that in her tipsy state she was in no shape to cook dinner thus leaving the task to Triss. 

“What do you think?” Emoria asks. There’s a thick smudge of soil smeared across her cheek and the redhead bends to clear it away. Though she can do nothing for the dirt and grass that stains the girl’s outfit. 

“I think it’s beautiful,” Yennefer whispers. Tissaia, still stunned and unable to find appropriate words, nods. 

Triss claps her hands together as she stands. “It’s a nice evening. Perfect for dining out here.”

In her tipsy-riddled brain, the perfect idea forms in Yennefer’s head and she turns towards Tissaia, a loopy grin in place, purple eyes alight with a mischievous, teasing energy she hasn’t experienced in a while. “Why don’t you call Rita? See if she’d like to join?” 

“Oh, she probably already has plans,” Tissaia says, rubbing the back of her neck and looking away. “Besides, it’s last minute and there’s nowhere for her to sleep should she spend the night. It seems like too much of a bother and would put you two out.”

Triss looks back and forth between the two sorceresses, hugging Emoria close to her. There’s a knowing smile on the redhead’s face as she watches the exchange. 

“It’s no bother,” Yenenfer says. It’s her home and technically she has final say. But still, she turns to catch Triss’ eyes, sending a quick telepathic message of the conversation from the kitchen. Her cornflower blue eyes shine brighter as she catches on. 

“Yes, we have plenty of space,” the redhead says. “And we can always conjure a room if we need to.”

The archmage blushes fiercely, turning her back on the others. Yennefer smiles at the tightness in the older woman’s shoulders and neck. Gods, if she knew about Tissaia’s crush on Margarita sooner, she would have begun her teasing years ago. It was cute watching the archmage who was always well composed and mild mannered, turn into a flustered young woman at the mere prospect of dining with the woman she had feelings for. 

Yennefer thinks about the other pairing within the small cluster of sorceresses. She and Triss. Sheala and Philippa. Tissaia and Margarita. Keira was happily with Lambert, but had the blonde preferred another of their peers? Possibly, though Yennefer couldn’t pinpoint exactly who. And there were the others: Fringilla, Francesca, Ida, Assire, Sabrina. Francesca and Ida were associates before the creation of the Lodge, as were Fringilla and Assire. Could there have been pairings that Yennefer failed to notice? Most likely. She would ask Triss about it later this evening if she could. 

“No, it’s too much trouble,” Tissaia argues, purposefully avoiding the other sorceresses’ eyes. “I can’t disrupt any plans she may already have.”

“But,” Triss tries. 

“No ‘buts.’ We’ll try another time, though I’m sure she would enjoy this evening and this garden,” Tissaia says, wistfully. 

Emoria looks at the archmage, a shy smile on her face. “I’d like to meet Margarita,” she whispers. “Can we at least ask her to come?” Yennefer shuts her eyes, hiding her own smile by turning her head slightly. Gods bless this child. There was no way Tissaia was going to deny Emoria’s wishes. The older sorceress could say no to Yennefer and Triss with ease. She did it countless times both when they were students in Aretuza and after they moved out into the world. But Tissaia wasn’t as skilled as saying no to Emoria and in her softened, tipsy state, the sorceress would give in. 

Tissaia sighs, muttering something under her breath before facing Emoria with a soft smile. “Very well. I will need to use your megascope.” She says this to Yennefer, who nods and mentions that it’s set up and ready for use in her study. Emoria slips out from under Triss and reaches for Tissaia’s hand. “Come along. You can help me call her.” 

Hand in hand, Tissaia and Emoria walk inside the house. Once they’re alone, Yennefer puts a hand on the redhead’s lower back, pulling her closer and burying her nose in those fiery red locks. 

“Triss?”

“Yes?”

“Did you know about Sheala and Philippa?”

The redhead chuckles. “I knew about them in the past.”

“And you never told me?” Yennefer leans away to catch the other woman’s eye. She tries to reflect hurt in her lilac eyes, but Triss knows it’s a way to drum up sympathy and a tinge of guilt. 

Triss runs a finger along Yennefer’s bottom lip, causing the other woman to shiver. “I thought you knew. They weren’t very discreet at times,” she whispers. “Though you didn’t know about my feelings towards you until after we kissed. And I’m guessing this news of Tissaia and Margarita is new to you.”

“What?” Yennefer says incredulously.

The redhead chuckles and captures Yennefer’s lips in a slow, lazy kiss. Her hands slide down to rest on Yennefer’s waist and the raven-haired sorceress arches into the simple touch. She fights the desire to explore further, painfully aware that Emoria and Tissaia could return at any moment. But she missed these moments of intimacies with her lover. And it’s clear Triss misses it too as she ends the kiss with a nip at the raven-haired sorceress’ bottom lip. 

“You’ll see tonight,” the redhead says. “Margarita will accept Tissaia’s offer. Especially with Emoria clinging to her arm.”

The prediction turns out to be true. Moments after the sorceresses pull apart, Emoria bursts out the back door, smiling wide as she exclaims that Margarita will in fact be joining them all for dinner. Tissaia appears outside, crimson red as though she ran a great distance to reach them. Triss says she’ll start on a meal right away and urges the others to freshen up. 

As the sun starts to dip towards the horizon, there’s a series of knocks on the front door. Yennefer puts the finishing touches on her attire for the evening, checking herself in the mirror. She tucks her cotton blouse in her dark green trousers, letting a small tail peek out. Her raven hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a braid wrapped around the left side of her head. She smiles, listening to the small, excited footsteps rushing to her room. 

“Lady Margarita is here,” Emoria announces. The girl wears a new outfit. A cream-colored blouse with a rich velvet vest over it and trousers a shade darker than the vest. Her leather work boots shine from a recent cleaning and her trusty dagger is attached at her hip. The girl pauses in the door, admiring Yennefer. “You look beautiful,” she says in a quiet voice. “Lady Triss will like it.”

“Thank you. You look quite dashing.” Emoria puffs out her chest, a look of confidence and pride on her face. Smiling, Yennefer touches the girl’s shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze. “Come, let’s enjoy the evening.” 

Triss’ cornflower blue eyes widen as she takes in both Yennefer and Emoria. The redhead rakes her gaze across the sorceress’ body, her eyes weaving in and out with every suggested and pronounced curve. Yennefer imagines her lover’s body is flush with desire, imitating her own emotions as she looks at the redhead who’s dressed in a dark red dress, the color of wine. The bottom stops just above her knees, with a long slit providing a peek of Triss’ right thigh. The neckline is cut low, showing the tops of her breast and the faint scarring there. Instinctively, the raven-haired woman lips her licks. 

“Do you need help with anything?” Yennefer asks. 

“No,” Triss says, linking her arm through the raven-haired woman’s. “Everything’s already set. Come along.” 

Aiming to outdo her magical feat from earlier in the day, Triss transformed the backyard once again for their meal. Small balls of light float in the air, providing soft lighting for the warm evening. Multi-colored pillows are scattered under the large tree close to the log bench and thin tapestries are strung up to provide extra covering, their tails flapping with each gentle breeze. And there’s a sweet, calming scent in the air. Lavender, Yennefer suspects. 

Tissaia and Margarita sit at the table, tucked away in the back corner of the small space. The blonde woman coos at Clarissa, pinching the baby’s cheeks. Tissaia watches with a soft gaze and a pale blush. They look up as Yennefer, Triss and Emoria join them. 

“Yenna!” Margarita rises and rushes over to pull the raven-haired sorceress in her arms. “You look well. And the girls are absolutely lovely.” She reaches down to pat the top of Emoria’s head. “Thank you for opening your home to me.”

“Anytime Rita. You’re always welcomed here.”

Emoria practically pulls them to the table and the meal that awaits. Yennefer marvels at the spread before them. The centerpiece is a thick cut of lamb, rolled tight and held together by twine. Stuffed inside are various diced vegetables and sprigs of fresh rosemary and thyme. Next to the platter of lamb is a bowl of smashed sweet potatoes with brown sugar and butter set to the side, a bowl of salad, a loaf of white bread pulled from the oven just minutes earlier and several baked apples with cinnamon sprinkled on top. 

Yennefer leans over, placing a hand on Triss’ shoulder. “How did you make this all in just a few hours?”

“With help from this one,” she says, brushing Emoria’s hair who perks up and grins at the sorceresses. “And a series of enchantments.” 

Dinner starts off normally, with Margarita dominating the conversation as she gives updates on her life after the fight with the Wild Hunt. Tissaia is visibly smitten, looking at the blonde with a softness that Yennefer never thought the archmage capable of experiencing. After a bottle of wine has been opened, Tissaia relaxes and her tongue loosens. Her hand brushes against Margarita’s shoulder. Or she’ll stare directly into those brilliant blues without pause. The blonde never comments on the unusual behavior, but Yennefer notices her hand sliding under the table to rest on Tissaia’s knee. 

Unsurprisingly, Margarita warms up to Emoria in moments. She’s eager to answer the girl’s countless questions, offering her a soft smile with each answer. When her tales are done, Rita listens as Emoria talks about her lessons with Tissaia. The archmage interjects here and there, though for the most part she sits in silence, looking at the girl with fierce pride. 

“Well I believe you’re experiencing a gentler Tissaia,” Margarita teases. She pinches the archmage who swats her hand away and rubs the sore area. 

“As I’ve stated countless times, Emoria is a model student. If I had a class full of girls like her, Aretuza would have been a peaceful place.”

The girl leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. “Were Lady Yennefer and Lady Triss that bad?”

The archmage shivers. “Yennefer was a challenge from her first night onward. And Triss was way too conciliatory, especially if the request came from Yennefer.”

“They weren’t that bad,” Margarita says, touching Tissaia’s arm.

“They were. It’s a wonder the school never burned down.”

“In my defense it was more smoke than actual flames,” Yennefer says, smiling. 

Emoria turns to look at her, eyes wide as she stares in awe. “You set the school on fire?”

Yennefer takes a sip of wine before answering, ignoring Triss’ gleeful look. “It was a classroom. Mostly unoccupied. And as I said, it was more smoke than fire. A harmless prank.”

Tissaia purses her lips together. “Sabrina would beg to differ.”

The raven-haired sorceress smirks, opting to stay silent. This of course unlocks Emoria’s curiosity and for the next hour, Tissaia and Margarita regale the girl with misadventures from Yennefer and Triss’ time as students. Emoria goes red from laughter as she listens to the different stories. The redhead’s ears burn from embarrassment when Margarita recounts the time when, in desperate need of drinking money, Triss, Kiera, Sabrina and Yennefer spread a rumor of a vicious ghoul targeting wealthy men at night. One of them, it’s still not clear who to this day, cast a harmless, but gruesome looking spell on a man of renowned wealth that caused boils to cover his body. He sent a servant to hire a sorceress to take care of his ailment and the alleged ghoul that caused the misfortune. Triss had prepared the poultice well in advance and pocketed the man’s money once his skin was free of blemishes. 

“And the ghoul was nothing more than Keira and Yennefer in the woods, creating auditory and visual illusions through simple spells.” Tissaia pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply. “I was furious with them.”

But Yennefer doesn’t recall the lengthy lecture she and the others received when they were caught. When she thinks back on that particular day, she remembers the nervous gleam in Triss’ eye as she went off to deliver the poultice. The redhead was never one for such schemes and she usually tried to temper the other’s more ambitious plans. Yennefer almost thought Triss would back out at the last second. But she played her part well, tossing the coins in the air as she strutted back to the group. That night as empty wine bottles rolled in the grass and Sabrina and Keira plotted to raid the greenhouse for herbs, Triss and Yennefer sat on a small hill and observed the stars. At one point, the redhead yawned and let her head rest on the raven-haired woman’s shoulder. It was comforting and warm. Yennefer could smell the sweet wine of Triss’ breath with each exhale and not willing to disturb her companion, Yennefer limited her movements, even as she tried to finish the last of their wine. They stayed like that for the rest of the evening, until the cold night forced them back inside Aretuza’s wall. But that quiet moment endeared Yennefer to Triss, a brick in the foundation that eventually led to their friendship. 

“And those were the exploits we know about,” Margarita says, chuckling as the topic starts to dwindle. Tissaia sits next to her, eyes shut tight as she fights off the headache that arises any time she thinks of her tenure as a headmistress. The blonde starts to rub her back, causing the archmage to once again relax. 

“But it wasn’t all bad,” Tissaia admits. “I wouldn’t want to relive it again. But still I’m glad for the opportunity to tutor you girls.”

It’s quiet after that. Margarita pours the last of the wine into her goblet, while Triss moves to open another. The meal has been finished, the plates all but licked clean. Emoria hides a yawn behind her hand and rubs her eyes, but when asked says she’s not ready for bed yet. She leans into Triss’ side, fighting to keep her eyes open. 

“Why don’t we move over to the cushions?” Yennefer suggests. Grabbing the remaining bottles of wine and their glasses, the group slide over to the seating under the tree. With a wave of her hand, Triss softens the floating lights. Emoria finishes another baked apple. Full and sleepy from the large meal, she stretches herself across the two sorceresses, with her legs in Triss’ lap and her head on Yennefer’s thighs. Her eyes finally shut when the raven-haired sorceress threads her fingers through the girl’s hair, scratching her scalp. Within minutes, the girl’s breathing evens out and she falls asleep. Her sister drifts off seconds later in Triss’ arms. 

Having consumed three glasses of wine, on top of the several glasses from earlier in the afternoon, Tissaia has lost nearly all of her personal inhibitions and leans her head against Rita’s shoulder. The blonde has her arm around the archmage’s waist and they sit nearly hip to hip. Margarita glances at Yennefer, Triss and the two girls. 

“So you’re keeping them? You’re going to raise them?”

“We hope so,” Triss answers. 

“Yes, Triss and Yennefer wish to continue their new fantasy.” Everyone turns to see Philippa there in the doorframe. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she watches them with a slight frown. But Margarita fixes her with that disarming, warm smile and the owl sorceress lets her defenses drop. 

“Phil. It’s good to see you. Come join us. We have plenty of wine left.”

“Rita, I’m surprised to see you here.” The owl sorceress walks to the table, scanning the remaining food and fixing a small plate for herself. “You joining this cramped household as well?”

“Just for the night.”

Philippa joins them on the cushions, sitting with her legs tucked to the side and pours a glass of wine for herself. 

“How’s Sheala?” Yennefer asks. The question is meant to tease, but there’s a hint of sincerity in those two words. She hasn’t visited Sheala in a few months, though she hopes to take a trip there when she can. Maybe alone first to introduce the other sorceress to the idea of Emoria and Clarissa. Though Yennefer wouldn’t be surprised if the two girls came up in conversation during Philippa’s visits. 

“She’s fine,” the owl sorceress says, sending a quick glare in Tissaia’s direction. 

“Phil, you can be sincere with us,” Triss says. “There’s no malice to be found here.” 

“She’s doing well. Getting healthier every day. And she’s learning from the priestesses. They may even know a way to lessen the scarring around my eye. Possibly even heal it completely.” 

Tissaia leans up to look at her. “That’s great. Truly.” 

Philippa fingers the wrapping around her damaged eye. “I’m leaving for Ellander in the morning to stay there while the priestesses and Sheala work on a solution.” 

Yennefer was pleased by the news, though a small part of her would miss bickering with the older sorceress. But she wanted Philippa to feel better and find some sense of comfort after Radovid’s brutality, whether that was in Sheala’s arms or with a healed eye. Still, Yennefer wasn’t going to let Philippa leave without experiencing some final parting shots. 

“Nenneke could hardly tolerate me in the temple when I was there with Ciri. I’m sad I won’t get to experience what will surely be legendary encounters between you two.”

“I was promised a room,” Philippa says, slyly. 

“And?”

There’s a long pause, which Philippa fills by pinching and eating food off her plate. “I’m conjuring a manor in the woods.”

Yennefer smiles into her glass. “I knew it.”

“It’s only because you left such an  _ interesting  _ impression during your time there. Sullied her opinion of sorceresses.”

Yennefer  _ had _ been difficult when she last stayed in the temple. Though in her defense, she was still reeling from the news of the Child of Surprise and the recent return of her eyesight. She was raw from the battle at Sodden and furious with Geralt for this ‘friend’ letter informing her of Ciri. And she and Nenneke had a contentious relationship when the raven-haired sorceress was searching for an infertility cure. But Yennefer felt a twinge of guilt that this was affecting other sorceresses. 

Though she’s sure Philippa’s not completely innocent here. 

“I wasn’t enthused about those drab, simple chambers anyway.”

Ah, there it is. 

Tissaia sighs. “Just try not upset the high priestess too much.” 

Philippa wiggles her eyebrows, smirking as she tips back the rest of her wine. “You don’t scold Yennefer and Triss nearly as much as you do me.”

Emoria murmurs in her sleep, nestling further into Yennefer’s leg. The sorceress runs her hand down the girl’s hair, reveling in the small smile this earns her. 

“The girls are still here, then?” Philippa asks. No sneer. No malice. No hint of a tease that points at a future scheme. Yennefer’s shocked. 

“Phil, it’s okay to admit you’re curious about them,” Triss says. She starts to hold Clarissa out. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Absolutely not!”

Margarita leans forward. “I’ll take her.” The blonde takes the young child, pressing her close to her chest and rocking her to get her back to sleep. With a sleepy smile, Tissaia leans forward, offering the child a lone finger. Clarissa accepts it just as she drifts back to sleep. 

“Well if you’re keeping them,” Philippa continues, “I hope you plan on teaching them the right things.”

“Tissaia started Emoria on a plan,” Yennefer says. 

“I’m not talking about things they can gleam in books! That girl carries a dagger on her hip, but can she use it?”

“We hope she’ll never need to use it.” 

Philippa rolls her eyes, barely suppressing a smile. “Gods, I’m glad I’m bringing this up. I told Sheala these girls will live in luxury, being spoiled by you two.” She shakes her head, the smile finally coming through. “Spoil them, sure. You can afford to do it and we shouldn’t deny them that part of life. But they shouldn’t be completely soft. Even Merigold has hard edges to her.”

Triss scoots closer to Yennefer, adjusting Emoria’s legs in her lap. The redhead runs a free hand down her lover’s back ast they share a quick look. Yennefer wonders how these conversations with Sheala began and ended. Clearly some magic was at hand to make Philippa have a shift in her attitude towards the girls. Or maybe the older sorceress was still reeling from Triss’ threat from days ago. 

“What brought this change on?” Tissaia asks. 

Again, Philippa eats food, giving her time to hide from an emotionally honest answer and compose something that’s true, but distant from the vulnerability sorceresses hate. Her hands shake just a bit as she pours the rest of the wine in her glass, empty the final bottle for the night. 

“Tissaia did the best she could with what she had,” the owl sorceress says slowly. “She was far from perfect, but we’re okay. I guess. And Ciri turned out fine, despite all that was thrown at her. Those girls will have it easier than any of us. I’ll admit I was jealous of that fact.” She looks up, holding Triss’ gaze, before shifting to look at Yennefer. 

“Their parents abandoned them, Phil,” Triss says.

“So did mine and Yennefer’s and Keira’s and nearly every other mage who ever lived. There are countless abandoned children in this town alone. But that’s not the point here. They’ve had the fortune of falling into your care and, again for reasons I will never fully understand, you two want to raise them as your own. So don’t fuck them up.” 

“We don’t intend to,” Yennefer says, fighting the instinct to roll her eyes. Philippa was being sincere, possibly for the first time in a while, and the raven-haired sorceress could muster up the same emotion. 

“Good,” Philippa says with a short nod. “And I’ll obviously fill in the gaps in their learning. Can’t give a girl a dagger and not show her how to use it.”

Emoria curls into herself then, murmuring once again. As if she were aware she was the main topic just now, she inhales and pushes herself up until she’s squished between Yennefer and Triss. The girl rubs her eyes, upset at having woke up. 

“Ready for bed?” the redhead asks. 

Emoria nods, eyes still shut tight. “Can I sleep with you again tonight?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask,” Yennefer says. Philippa’s expression is unreadable in this moment as she watches the exchange. The raven-haired sorceress decides not to dwell on it. She understands that in her own way, Philippa has given her approval and while Yennefer didn’t need it, she wasn’t going to completely shun it either. 

Margarita is slow to give Clarissa back, hugging and kissing the girl multiple times before eventually handing her to Triss. Tissaia clears the ruins of their meal with a simple spell and a wave of her hand, while Philippa complains that she wants more wine. With slump shoulders and bowed head, Emoria leads everyone back inside. She manages to wish the other women good night, before making a beeline for the main bedroom. Triss offers to make a space for Margarita, but the blonde smirks and shakes her head saying it won’t be necessary. With Tissaia’s arm around her shoulders, Rita walks confidently into the guest room, shutting the door behind her. The familiar tingle of magic being used close by, touches Yennefer, Triss and Philippa. 

“I hope you buy Ciri a new mattress,” the owl sorceress says, ducking into her room to avoid Yennefer’s icy glare. 

“At least they’re being considerate,” Triss teases. 

The raven-haired sorceress brings a hand to her forehead. “I don’t want that image in my mind. Especially before bed.” The redhead chuckles and rubs the back of her lover’s arm. 

When they reach their room, they’re stunned by the sight of Emoria donning her nighttime attire in the middle of their bed fast asleep. Her clothes are neatly folded and placed on an armchair in the corner of the room. She only had a few seconds headstart, yet it’s easy to picture her wiggling out of her clothes, folding them and slipping under the covers while the sorceresses chatted in the hall. 

“Well, time to join your sister,” Triss says to Clarissa. Her eyelids flutter a few times as she’s placed into her onesie. And both girls sigh as the nestle close to each other. 

“Triss?”

“Yes, Yen?”

“You don’t think we’ll mess this up, do you?”

The redhead turns. Her hair is bunched up in one hand as she tries to undo the fastening on her dress. Yennefer comes up behind her, pushing the buttons through, revealing more and more blemish free skin. She bends, placing a chaste kiss on Triss’ shoulder. 

“No, Yenna. I don’t think we’ll mess this up.” The redhead spins to look directly into those lilac eyes. “We’ll be fine. You’ll see.” 

Yennefer exhales with a quick chuckle and hums as she’s drawn into Triss’ arms. “I’m glad you’re with me in this.”

Triss kisses the side of her head, just below her ear. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

***

Tissaia, Margarita and Philippa all leave in the morning after breakfast. Emoria tries and fails to hide how much this hurts. She sits between Tissaia and Rita, bouncing in her seat as they offer more stories from their time as head of Aretuza. 

“Will you start the school again?” Emoria asks.

“I don’t think so,” Tissaia says. “I enjoy having just one student.” 

The girl smiles into her plate, swallowing another forkful of eggs. 

“Besides,” Philippa says from her end of the table. “I suspect she will have her hands full with something else. Or someone.”

Emoria stares blankly at the owl sorceress, while Tissaia goes crimson in the face. Yennefer contemplates dueling the other woman, but settles for a simple scowl as she feels a hand cup her knee under the table. And Rita mutters one word into her glass of juice. 

“Indeed.”

Philippa is the first to leave after their meal. She stands outside with her hands on her hips, staring in the direction of Ellander. They all wish her a safe journey to the temple. Triss and Margarita manage to squeeze in a hug, which the owl sorceress scowls through. 

“Little one?” she calls. Emoria perks up, guessing correctly that Philippa is addressing her. “Don’t let them soften you up too much.”

“O-okay.”

There’s a plume of grey smoke and as it clears the woman with tiny ponytails, appears before them as a large tawny owl. She circles them, flying low enough that they could touch her if they extend their hands. She screeches once, then sets course for Ellander, the Temple of Melitele and the sorceress who awaits her return. 

Margarita and Tissaia linger, giving plenty of attention to Clarissa and Emoria before they depart. The blonde, having only spent one evening with the girls, showers them in kisses and promises to return when she can. Clarissa soaks up the extra care, giggling and grabbing at Rita’s cheeks, mouth, nose or anything she can touch. 

“I’m eager to see your improvement when I visit again,” Tissaia says. She places both hands on Emoria’s shoulders. “You’ll do well under Triss and Yennefer. But if you feel they are slacking with your lessons, then write to me and I will portal here immediately.” 

Eyes shining with unshed tears, Emoria nods and rushes to hug Tissaia. 

“Good luck to you both,” the archmage says to Yennefer and Triss. “Though you shouldn’t need it. You’re sorceresses after all. Give Ciri my regards when she returns from Lyria.”

“And tell her I’m sorry to have missed her,” Margarita says. 

Tissaia was never one for affection, often hiding her respect and admiration in lengthy lectures that seemed to leave her winded. But she holds Yenenfer’s gaze for a moment, eyes wide and clear with adoration and love, before pulling the younger sorceress into her arms for a tight embrace. And despite all the kind words from the past few days, their mutual teasing and her dedication to Emoria’s wellbeing and education, this hug was the strongest indicator of just how much Tissaia treasured Yennefer and Triss. 

Margarita reaches for Tissaia’s hand and opens a portal to the distant lands of Kovir. “I’m eager to show you my new lodgings. It’s not as grand as Aretuza once was or as spacious as Yen’s home. But it’s cozy.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, dear. Perfect for us.” 

They disappear through the portal, leaving the two sorceresses and the two girls alone for the first time ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading and supporting this fic! I love your comments and kudos, so keep them coming!! I hope this long chapter will keep you satisfied until I upload again. 
> 
> Stay safe! Take care of yourselves! Much love!


	20. Glimpses of Domesticity

Blissful. 

It’s the only way Yennefer can think to describe the days and weeks after the other sorceresses’ departure. Of course, Emoria was saddened by Tissaia and Margarita leaving. She even seemed a bit upset at Philippa’s absence. Immediately after they left, the girl climbed the stairs to her room and stretched out on the bed, thankfully leaving the door wide open so the sorceresses could see inside. This time Yennefer and Triss were prepared. They gave the girl an hour of solitude and gradually checked in on her, starting with hour intervals, before moving to every half hour and soon nearly every fifteen minutes. Sometimes they’d ask how she felt, if she wanted company or if she needed anything. Other times, they’d simply walk by her room, a silent reminder that they weren’t too far away. 

By early evening, well before dinner, Emoria emerged from the bedroom and joined them downstairs in front of hearth, silently climbing into Yennefer’s lap. The girl dozed until it was time to eat and spent the rest of the night on the heels of one of the sorceresses or tucked into their side. The women didn’t mind and never voiced any complaints, even when Emoria questioned if she was being a bother. 

“Can I sleep with you two tonight?” she asked as Triss said it was time for bed. 

The redhead brushed her hand down the girl’s brown hair. “Of course you can.” 

They climbed the stairs, Emoria racing ahead of the two women and her younger sister. She quickly stripped out of her day clothes and donned loose pants and the tunic she usually wore to bed and climbed onto the mattress, waiting for the others to join. Once Clarissa was clean and dressed in her long nightie, she was given to her sister so the women could change and wash off what little makeup they wore for the day. By the time they were ready to slide under the covers, Emoria and Clarissa were fast asleep, both girls snoring softly as they cling to one another. The sorceresses took a moment to admire the sight, their hearts overflowing with a loving stillness. As they climb into bed, careful not to disturb the girls, they lean forward and share a quick kiss before tucking in for the night. 

It’s their new routine. They wake to the creeping sunlight on their faces, warm and content from the presence of the girls nestled between them. Whoever woke first usually cooked breakfast, using the smell of home cooked meals to lure the others out of bed and into the kitchen. And after a hearty meal, they would dress and begin their days. Emoria split her time between Yennefer and Triss, with the two women offering both a rigid tutoring structure and a more loose, conversational lesson. The girl flourished, slowly opening up and asking more questions, not just for clarification, but to access a deeper understanding of the nature of things. Tissaia was right. The girl had an insatiable curiosity. 

The days were over too soon and as night approached, the family would settle for another meal and more time spent together. Emoria set her sights on the expansive library in Yennefer’s study, speaking aloud her desire to read every book on the shelf. And the raven-haired sorceress was happy to let the girl explore and read whatever she wanted, though there were some tales that were best left for when she grows older. So as Emoria scanned the shelves, searching for the perfect book to read, Yennefer stood behind her and gently guided her to the appropriate books. 

Once the girl had a book in hand, they would all curl up on a sofa in front of the fireplace to read together. Emoria still struggled over words and pronunciations, but Yennefer and Triss were gentle in their corrections, reminding the girl that she would get it, that it takes patience and time. Clarissa, more interested in the pictures than the words, would try to flip through the pages until something caught her eye. They’d laugh and gently pry the paper from the baby’s grip, only for her to make another attempt moments later. 

For the first few days, Emoria would ask to sleep with the sorceresses and the women were always happy to let her share the space. There was plenty of room but they all huddled close together in the middle, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Emoria alternated which sorceress to cling to in the night. They would all settle down for bed and start the cycle over in the morning. 

By the fifth night, Emoria shocks both sorceresses by saying she’ll sleep in her own room. 

“Are you sure?” Triss asks from her seat at the vanity. Her eyebrows knit together in concern, but Emoria smiles and nods. 

“I’ll be fine. And I can take Clarissa with me too.” Both girls are already dressed for bed and looking around the bedroom, Yennefer realizes the crib is missing from its usual spot. She suspects the girl had planned this at some point during the day. For a brief moment, she worries that Emoria may attempt to run away and take her sister along with her. But that fear is quickly pushed away when she realizes the girl was happier and a lot more settled in the home. So there was some other motive at play. 

Yennefer sits on the foot of the bed, placing her arms behind her to support her weight. “We don’t mind sharing the bed,” she says. 

“I know,” she says, holding Yennefer’s gaze. “But I can’t get too comfortable. I don’t want Ciri to get jealous when she comes back.” She grins at them and the raven-haired sorceress nods. 

“We can accept that.” 

They tuck her into her own bed and kiss both girl’s foreheads before bidding them good night. As Yennefer shuts the door behind them, taking care to leave a small crack, Triss reaches for her and sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“We have some time to ourselves,” she whispers in Yennefer’s ear, her voice sounding like liquid lust. “We shouldn’t waste it.” The redhead practically drags her the short distance back to their room, shutting the door with a gentle kick. With a quick tug, she pulls the raven-haired sorceress into her arms bringing their lips together in a slow, intense kiss. The redhead tries to walk Yennefer back and pin her against the door. But the raven-haired woman plants her feet on the floor, catching Triss by surprise. She takes advantage of the shock, pushing the other woman into the side of the vanity and breaking the kiss by catching Triss’ bottom lip between her teeth. It earns her a shudder and a soft whimper. 

Yennefer’s hands run lightly up Triss’ hips and waist as she kisses along the redhead’s jaw and neck. Triss gasps and bucks as a hand cups the underside of her breast. Yennefer uses her thumb and rubs the nipple through the silk blouse the other woman wears. Her other hand trails down, slipping inside the band of her pants and brushing against wetness between soft curly red hair. Triss opens her legs wider and hugs her lover. 

“Get on the bed,” she whispers into Triss’ ear. “I’ll join you in a second.” She steps back, smirking as her lover’s eyelids flutter and her lips part ever so slightly as she tries to catch her breath. There’s a wonderful flush that spreads from her neck down to her cleavage and Yennefer licks her lips, wanting nothing more than to run her tongue along the soft skin. But she turns away before she fully submits to her desires. 

Squatting in front of the trunk pushed in the corner of the room, Yennefer hears a soft purr and appreciative murmur behind her. She smiles, opening the lid and rifling around until she finds the harness and phallus. She pulls off her nightgown, letting it pool at her feet and slips into the harness, strapping it snugly around her hips. Conjuring up a bottle of wine and two chalices on the side table, Yennefer struts slowly to the bed. In the soft glow from the firelight, she sees that Triss’ pupils are wide from arousal. 

She knows Triss wants to be touched and Yennefer wants nothing more than to make love until they tire themselves out. But she can’t help but turn the tables and tease the other woman, prolonging her inevitable release. Yennefer thinks of the many, many nights Triss smiled from above and touched her with light fingers that could please but never send the raven-haired woman over. She wanted to know what it was like to hold such power in the bedroom. 

“Yen,” Triss drawls, looking at her with unrestrained want. Yennefer shivers, but smiles as she uncorks the bottle of wine and pours a glass for herself. She takes a slow sip, savouring the tartness on her tongue. “Yen, please.” 

“Please what?”

Triss groans and shuts her eyes. The flush on her neck deepens, turning a vivid almost pure scarlet. Yennefer takes another sip from the chalice, watching intently as the redhead slips a hand into her pants and begins touching herself. Triss inhales sharply as her fingers move in small circles between her legs. The raven-haired woman quirks an eyebrow, enjoying the display before her. It fuels her own desire and while she plans to be the one who gets Triss off, she’s in no rush to prematurely end the show. She perches on the edge of the bed and with a spell, whispered softly near the chalice’s rim, disintegrates Triss’ clothing so she can better look at the other woman. The redhead opens her eyes partially making eye contact as two fingers push inside her. The moan that comes out is stronger and more intoxicating than the wine in the chalice and it almost,  _ almost _ forces Yennefer to abandon her plans and climb on top of Triss. But she forces herself to remain in her spot and drink in the view of Triss’ fingers thrusting slowly. 

“What do you need my love?” the raven-haired woman whispers. 

Triss bites her bottom lip before answers. “You.”

She runs a hand along the inside of Triss’ leg. “You have to be more specific.”

“Fuck,” the redhead groans. “Please Yen, I want you to fuck me.”

She shivers from the vulgarity. Yennefer takes another sip of wine before setting it to the side. She climbs on the bed, sitting on her knees in front of Triss’ open legs. The redhead slows her fingers, but Yennefer looks at her. “Don’t stop. Not yet.” Her eyes never waver as she follows the movement of those fingers that grow slick with wetness with each thrust. Triss moans again, her shoulders planting into the bed and her spine arching. Her nipples stand erect and Yennefer pinches one between her thumb and finger, causing the redhead to swear. 

Gently, Yennefer holds Triss’ wrist, moving the slim fingers from her entrance. “Touch yourself here,” she instructs, guiding the redhead’s hand to her clit. She presses the phallus between her lover’s lips, coating the shaft in her arousal before pushing inside. She leans forward, filling the other woman completely. Yennefer nips at the supple skin at Triss’ neck, leaving marks that would heal by morning. 

Skin pressed against warm skin, the two women make love on top of the covers. Yennefer is in bliss. The sounds that escape from Triss, the sighs, the moans, the whimpers are music to her ears, playing a song that only Yennefer will get to experience. They’re pressed so close to each other as though they wish to fuse together. And this is what she always sought in her early days as a sorceress. She wanted love. She wanted to be important to another. She needed to know that she mattered to someone. 

And she had it now in ways that were pleasantly unexpected. Like the meals that Triss seemed to recall from the depths of her memory. And the countless trinkets left around the house for Yennefer to discover. It was there in the way Yennefer sought small moments of affection when they crossed paths in the hall. And the way she gazed at Triss in the early morning before the redhead woke. This new life that she and Triss are creating is mundane compared to their past adventures as sorceresses. And yet, Yennefer looks forward to each day in this new life of hers. 

Triss’ hand works between them, the circles she make turning tight and frantic as her moans grow deeper. The insides of her thighs twitch against Yennefer’s hips. “Yenna!” she says before biting down on the woman’s shoulder to muffle her scream. The raven-haired woman plants her hand on the bed, continuing to thrust as the redhead orgasms. 

Triss’ chest is bright red and Yennefer dips her head to run her tongue, tracing the invisible line from her neck to the start of her cleavage. Triss falls back on the bed, inhaling through her mouth. She throws an arm over her eyes, smiling as the raven-haired woman kisses up to her lips. 

“You’re amazing,” Triss whispers, voice dry and hoarse. 

Yennefer offers her the rest of the wine, pressing the chalice to her lips so she can drink her fill. “So are you,” she says. Triss runs a hand up and down Yennefer’s arm as she recovers. The raven-haired woman sets the chalice back on the table and grips her lover’s waist, pressing the phallus back in the snug opening. The redhead shuts her eyes and inhales as the other woman sets a slow pace. She cups Yennefer’s face, pulling her down for a chaste kiss. 

“Ready?” the raven-haired sorceress whispers against her lips. 

Triss raises an eyebrow, a silent challenge forming in those cornflower blue eyes. Her hands move down to rest on Yennefer’s shoulders as she shifts her hips up. She chuckles before answering. “For you?” she asks, grinning. “Yes.”

* * *

The two sorceresses are too tired to dress and they silently pray that Emoria won’t slip into their room in the middle of the night. Yennefer giggles and curls into herself when she feels Triss place light kisses on the back of her neck and shoulders. 

“You’re amazing,” the redhead says. 

“Yes,” Yennefer responds. “You’ve made that clear many times tonight.”

Triss chuckles and tightens her arms around Yennefer’s waist. She ends her exploration with her mouth, placing one final kiss behind the raven-haired sorceress’ ear. “No, I mean everything about you is amazing Yen. The way you are with the girls. How you open your home up to others. Your gentle kisses. I’m so fortunate to be with you and I’ll be forever indebted to that snow storm.” 

The raven-haired woman feels tears at the corners of her eyes, but she wipes them away with the back of her hand and leans back into Triss’ embrace. She waits until she’s sure her voice won’t crack and betray her before answering. 

“I can’t think of any better person to spend this part of my life with.” 

“Nor I,” Triss admits. “You’re a cherished friend. My best friend.” 

“Really? I was sure I had to compete with Keira for your friendship,” she teases. 

Triss smiles into her back. “I love Keira dearly. But I’d do anything for you Yen. Now and always. I have few immaterial treasures in my life, but your love is the thing I most treasure.” 

She wasn’t sure how to respond or if she needed to say anything. She whispers Triss’ name, unable to hide the crack in her voice. Her hand covers the other woman’s and their fingers thread together. 

“If ever I had the chance to redo my life, I’d still take every step that would lead me here to you,” Triss whispers. “You are the complement to my life.”

Yennefer wants to ask where this confession is coming from. She wants to know if Triss is winding up to a big reveal. But she knows it doesn’t matter. Knows that these words spoken into her skin, like an eternal promise, is a reflection of Yennefer’s own feelings towards the woman behind her. She could spew symbolic poetics of how much Triss meant to her and create something that rivaled the songs of Dandelion. But she didn’t feel the need for such vapid metaphors. She could just speak from the heart like Triss is doing. 

“You are my chosen person,” Yennefer whispers. “Now and forever.” 

“Now and forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me and this story for so long! It's been a great journey and I'm thrilled to share this chapter and the remaining future chapters with you. As always, thanks for the kudos and comments. They fuel me and push me to keep writing! 
> 
> Stay safe everyone! Take care of yourselves! And I hope to have a new chapter sooner rather than later!


	21. The Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this long chapter! It's my way of saying thanks for being such awesome supporters!

Emoria sits at her desk in the corner of the study, her face pressed close to the sheets of parchment that lie flat on the wooden surface. Yennefer sneaks glances at her, smiling as the girl focuses on maintaining a steady hand as she composes her letter. She’s worked hard the past few weeks and her penmanship has improved dramatically, something Tissaia would admire once she returned for another visit. Emoria grunts now, setting the quill down and flexing her hand to loosen a cramp. 

“Why don’t you take a break?” Yennefer calls. 

“I’m almost done.” She rubs her wrist and picks the quill back up, dipping it into the inkwell before returning to her letter.

The scratch of the quill against parchment is soothing to Yennefer and soon her thoughts turn to her time as a student and the hours she spent in near solitude, lost in a tome on the nature of magic or a small pamphlet on how best to navigate a court. She suspects Emoria will become a scholar, given the girl’s appetite for books and learning. Even though she’s had a late start to her studies, it’s clear the girl wants to know more about the world. The only question is what subject she will choose to follow. 

Botany is the first thing that pops into Yennefer’s mind. When Emoria’s not in the study, skimming the modest collection, she’s outside squatting next to Triss as the redhead uses magic to coax plants into an early bloom. The raven-haired woman considers purchasing a small notebook for the girl to write down her observations or questions. It would be a birthday gift. Once Yennefer discovers the girl’s date of birth. 

“Done!” Emoria blows on the paper to force the ink to dry and arranges the sheets in the correct order. “Can you look over it? I want it to be good.”

Yennefer props her chin in her hand and smiles. “Ciri will love it regardless. But let me see.” She unstoppers her own inkwell and sets a long-feathered quill to the side as Emoria moves her chair to the large wooden desk to sit next to her. It took nearly half an hour for her to write the letter and judging by the neat handwriting, it was clear she had taken Tissaia’ advice to heart:  _ Be slow with your words and steady with your hand.  _

Emoria slides the sheets of parchment in front of the sorceress and sits back, waiting for the woman’s response. She watches Yennefer with eager, curious eyes, but says nothing. Giving the letter a quick scan, Yennefer nods in approval. 

“You’ve gotten better,” Yennefer says. “I’m proud of you.” 

“Thank you,” she whispers. Emoria ducks her head to hide her blush. “Can you read it now?”

“Are you sure? Isn’t it meant for Ciri?”

Emoria nods and smiles at the sorceress. “But I want you to read it first.”

“Alright,” she says, returning the smile. “I can do that.” 

_ Dear Ciri, _

_ I miss you and I hope you come back soon. Lady Yennefer promises that by the time this reaches you, you will likely be on your way back to Vengerberg. I hope that’s true. The house isn’t the same without you. But I like living here with Lady Yennefer and Lady Triss.  _

Yennefer pauses and presses her lips together to stifle the cry that works up her throat. Emoria leans closer, trying to peer over her arm to gauge how far she’s read. 

_ You told me to keep an eye on them and to let you know how they’re doing. They both miss you. Lady Triss talks about all the things we’ll do together when you return. I’ve learned you love fresh baked bread with poppyseeds and lemon because Lady Triss says it’s your favorite and she wishes to make it for you to welcome you back. Lady Yennefer tries to hide her concern, but sometimes I’ll catch her staring out a window for a long time. And she walks slowly by your room, looking for you. Lady Triss does her best to distract her and it works almost all the time.  _

_ They laugh a lot. Especially when they’re flirting. They do a lot of that too. I’ve stumbled upon them kissing or whispering to each other in the hallway. They never see me and I try to leave as quietly as I can to not disturb them. _

Yennefer rolls her eyes with a smile. “We don’t flirt that often.” 

Emoria grins, folds her fingers together and widens her eyes as she stares off. “Oh Triss you look so radiant in that dress,” she says, mimicking Yennefer. “Thank you my love. You’re absolutely glowing today as well.” Her imitation of Triss is surprisingly good. The sorceress makes a mental note to tell the redhead about this later in the day. 

Yennefer chuckles, flicking the girl’s nose. “Alright. Fine. Maybe we do compliment each other often. Though there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know,” she says, leaning into the woman’s arm. “I like it.”

_ They make me laugh too. I think that’s why I like living here. I don’t know what my mother’s laugh is like or my father’s. But I could pick Lady Triss or Lady Yennefer out of a crowd if I heard their laughter.  _

_ I don’t think about my parents as often. But I still miss them. Granger always said they’d never come back for us and I know it’s true, though I never wanted to believe her. It’s been months since they left us and I haven’t heard a word from them. I think it’s my fault. Maybe if I helped out with Clarissa more or found a way to bring money into the house, they wouldn’t have left us behind. I try to help as much as possible now. I don’t want Lady Yennefer or Lady Triss to think I’m useless. I don’t want to leave them or you, Ciri.  _

This time Yennefer can’t hold back the sob and wipes the corners of her eyes. Emoria looks down. The raven-haired woman pulls on the girl’s arm. “Come here, sweet girl,” she whispers and Emoria climbs into her lap, with her back resting against Yennefer’s front. The sorceress kisses the top of her head and runs a hand down the girl’s dark hair before continuing the letter. 

_ I’m still afraid and sometimes I fight against their attention, though I know I shouldn’t because it hurts them. But my biggest fear haunts me and sometimes I worry that I’ll wake from this. That I’ll find myself back in Granger’s home with Clarissa coughing and shivering in my arms. I don’t know why Granger picks on me. I did nothing to her. But she always said nothing good would come for me or from me. This home is good and if she’s right, then I’ll lose it one day. I try to tell myself that she’s wrong and sometimes I believe it. But at night, when I’m trying to sleep, I hear her voice. Even when I sleep with Lady Yennefer and Lady Triss, I hear Granger telling me that I’m worthless.  _

_ Just as I start to believe that she’s right, Lady Triss will smile at me as we work in the garden. Or Lady Yennefer will gently correct me when we’re reading together before bed. I want to believe that Granger’s wrong and most days I know she is because you, Lady Triss and Lady Yennefer see something in me. That’s three people against one.  _

_ So I think I’ll stay here and I can’t wait to hug you when you come back. I know Lady Yennefer doesn’t want you to bring the griffon’s head back, but I hope you can describe it or show me a picture in a book. I’m curious. I want to see what they’re like and how they fly. I know they’re dangerous, but they also seem majestic (I learned that word last week!) and I wish I could see one up close.  _

_ I can’t wait to show you the garden and to train with you again. And Clarissa misses you too. We’re never going to leave your side when you come home. Stay safe on the road and remember that we’re waiting for you. _

_ Emoria _

Yennefer arranges the parchment back in order and sets them down on the desk. There are comflicting thoughts that bounce around in her mind and she isn’t sure where to begin. She continues brushing Emoria’s hair, waiting for the girl to take the lead in the conversation. 

“What did you think?” Emoria whispers.

“I think Ciri will read and re-read this letter every night until she returns.” 

Emoria wipes her eyes. “Lady Yennefer?”

“Yes?”

“I like it here,” she says softly. “I don’t want to go back to Granger.”

Yennefer twists so she can look directly in the girl’s eyes. “Believe me when I say Triss and I will fight to keep you and your sister here. You’re never going back there.” 

Emoria tilts her head, her gaze almost level with the sorceress’. “Thank you,” she says, turning fully so she can hug Yennefer. 

In the evening, they don their finest cloaks and leave for Vengerberg’s main square. Emoria leads by a fraction, though she glances over her shoulder every few seconds as though she expects the sorceresses to slip through a portal when she’s not looking. Yennefer and Triss always smile, which the girl returns. Their first stop is to the courier’s to send the letter to Ciri. Yennefer pays extra to have it delivered within a day or two so it would make it into the young witcher’s hands before she departs Lyria. At the counter, Emoria bounces on the balls of her feet, occasionally knocking into Yennefer. 

Back outside, she fiddles with the clasp around her neck. “And it will get there in time?”

“It will,” Yennefer says, nodding. She holds out her hand and Emoria takes it. The sorceress squeezes it as they rejoin Triss and Clarissa. They wander the streets until they reach a tavern close to the town’s edge. Yennefer and Triss lock eyes, remembering the first day they shared in Vengerberg after the snowstorm had passed. They enter into a dimly lit room with sweetly fragrant smoke swirling in thin lines near the upper rafters. Emoria picks a spot in the middle of the room and they sit down just as a bar maiden saddles up and takes their orders. They share a whole chicken, stuffed with numerous herbs and roasted over an open flame. Emoria watches in awe with her mouth slightly open as a dark-haired, young woman takes to the small platform at the far end of the tavern and begins to sing. It’s a tune unfamiliar to Yennefer, which is expected. She hasn’t had much time to keep up with the newest ballads and tunes floating through the taverns’ halls. Not since Triss and the others settled into her home. 

Triss runs her hand through Emoria’s hair, her cornflower blue eyes trained on the bard commanding everyone’s attention. Clarissa is already asleep in Yennefer’s arms. She stirs and nuzzles deeper into the crook of the sorceress’ arm, but never wakes. 

Once the performance is over and people strike up new conversations, the sorceresses and the two young girls slip out in the cool night, bundling themselves in their cloaks to shield them from the nippy air. 

“Are there any songs about you?” Emoria asks Triss. Despite the slow melody of the bard’s final song of the night, the girl is wide-eyed and energetic. 

“A few. Though there are many more songs on Yennefer and her famed beauty.”

The raven-haired sorceress snorts, feeling a hint of ire though it’s not directed at Triss or the girl that walks between them. “Nearly all were penned by Dandelion and skewed towards glorifying Geralt and his exploits.” 

“Do you not like being in ballads?” Emoria asks. 

“I enjoy songs that don’t sacrifice the truth for poetics and drama.”

The girl cups her chin and gazes up towards the starry sky. “I’ll put you both in a song,” she muses. “It’ll talk about how gracious and generous you are to me and my sister. And how kind and beautiful you are. I’ll sing it in the town square.” She inhales then and lets out a note that’s exaggerated and well off key. Emoria pretends to wince at the noise, before bursting into laughter which the sorceresses join in. 

“If it comes from your hand, then I shall treasure it more than anything Dandelion ever wrote,” Yennefer says, wiping the corners of her eye. 

“Though perhaps let another sing it in the square,” Triss says, hugging Emoria close to her. 

“I can make that sacrifice.”

“You’re far better at impersonations anyway,” Yennefer says, still chuckling. When Triss gives her a puzzled look, the raven-haired sorceress recounts the girl’s antics from earlier in the day. “She’s quite good.”

“Show me,” Triss says.

Emoria lifts her chin and puffs out her chest. An air of haughtiness surrounds her and she speaks with the precise, short sentences that Philippa prefers. And she moves effortlessly from one impersonation to another, dipping into an impression of Tissaia that reminds Yennefer of the archmage’s days as headmistress to Aretuza. The girl perfectly captures Margarita’s easygoing and relaxed nature, before seamlessly transitioning into the energetic, witty Ciri. By the time they reach the home, both women are trying not to bend over from laughter with Yennefer working extra hard to make sure she doesn’t wake Clarissa. Triss’ chuckles ring throughout the halls as she helps Emoria prepare for bed and Yennefer smiles while dressing Clarissa in her nightgown. 

“Do you think Tissaia would enjoy my impressions?”

Triss glances over her shoulder as Yennefer and Clarissa enter the bedroom. The redhead pinches Emoria’s foot through the blanket before answering. “She’d need to warm to it first. But she’d come around. Margarita would find it endearing.”

“I miss them,” Emoria says, sighing as she tucks her hands beneath her head. 

“They’ll come visit again soon,” Triss says. She stands and pulls the covers up to the girl’s shoulder, smoothing the fabric down in places. “Now get some rest and we’ll see you in the morning.” 

Clarissa smiles in her sleep as she’s placed in the bassinet next to the bed. She sighs once and drifts back off again. Emoria shuts her eyes as the sorceresses walk into the hall and head back to their room. 

It takes a few days, but soon there’s a response from Ciri. It arrives late one night after dinner. Yennefer gives the courier a hefty tip in appreciation for the expedited delivery. Emoria runs circles around the raven-haired sorceress as they go to the sitting room to join Triss and Clarissa on the sofa which is situated in front of a fresh fire. 

“Do you want to try to read it yourself?” Yennefer holds the letter to the young girl. With shaky hands, Emoria takes the folded parchment and opens it. The response is far shorter than Emoria’s letter, but that doesn’t dampen the girl’s excitement as she begins to read.

_Dear Emoria,_

_ I’m racing this letter to see who shall arrive first. I pray that it’s me so I can draw you in my arms and press you close to my heart. I can’t put into words how much I miss you, Clarissa, Mom and Triss. I’ve thought of you all every day since I left. Though Mom would frown at this, I rushed through my business in Lyria so I could return home as soon as possible. I may have earned a new scar along the way, but it’s nothing too deep. There’s a story behind it that I can’t wait to share with you.  _

And here Yennefer does frown, tsk-ing to herself as she imagines where and how Ciri acquired this new scar on her body. She would speak to the young witcher on the importance of being careful when she’s fighting monsters. But she keeps this to herself and continues listening to Emoria. 

_ It fills my heart to hear that you all rely on each other for comfort while I’m away. I’ve traveled alone before and it’s usually never bothered me. But sleeping in a bed without you and Clarissa dozing next to me felt weird. When I return, I’m stealing you two away to catch up for lost time. I’m sure Mom and Triss would love the alone time. Though we will also do things together as a family.  _

_ This home, our home, is a good thing and you shall never, ever lose it. I swear. Take as much time as you need to feel comfortable, but know that we’ll never push you away or make you feel like you don’t belong. My only regret is that we didn’t rescue you from Granger before she put such vile thoughts in your mind. I’m sorry you still struggle to believe that you’re worthy of our love and affection and I know I will work extra hard every day to silence those horrible words from that terrible woman.  _

_ I would love nothing more than to tell you all about griffons and how they fly. They are frightening creatures when they travel near a settlement. But in the wild they are truly breathtaking. If I can find a safe way to show you one in person, then I will. With Mom’s permission of course. And don’t worry. I am bringing something wonderful for you and Clarissa. I hope you’ll love it!  _

_ Should this letter arrive before I do, know that I’m not far behind. It’s my last night in this Lyrian tavern and in the morning I will post this, climb onto my horse and race back to Vengerberg. I’m eager to see this new garden and to walk along the river with you and Clarissa. Take care and sleep well. I promise I will return safe and sound soon! _

_ Ciri _

When she’s done, Emoria sits in silence and reads the letter once more to herself. She folds it neatly and holds it in her hands, occasionally returning to it as they enjoy the fire’s warmth. When it’s time for bed, Yennefer spots the girl slipping it under her pillow for safekeeping. And like many nights before, she falls asleep with a soft smile on her lips. 

The next morning, they linger in the kitchen after breakfast. Emoria’s legs swing in the air as she rocks from side to side on the kitchen counter, humming a song that she’s made up. Patches of flour, in the shape of a hand, covers her dark hair from the countless times Triss touched the crown of her head as they worked to bake a fresh loaf of bread. Yennefer sits near the window, enjoying the patch of sunlight that warms her arm as she holds a sleeping Clarissa. The sorceress watches the baking pair with a soft smile. 

“How’s it looking?” she calls. 

The tip of Triss’ tongue peeks out from between her lips as she checks the bread. The room fills with the aroma of freshly zested lemon, sugar and poppyseeds and Yennefer’s stomach sounds in appreciation. “Almost done. And it looks perfect!” she says, rising and facing the raven-haired woman. 

Emoria glances out the window, squinting to better see. She gasps and launches off the counter to rush towards the door. “Ciri’s back!”

As the two sorceresses follow after the girl, the front door swings open and Emoria’s squeal pierces the midday silence. She runs down the cobbled path towards the figure on horseback. Yennefer’s heart jumps in her chest and the lingering tension in her body dissipates as she spots a shock of ashen hair against the dark buildings that outline the road. Clarissa stirs in her arms, yawning and stretching before blinking open both eyes slowly. 

“Look who’s back,” the sorceress whispers, angling the baby’s face towards the road.

The distance between Ciri and Emoria shortens and the young witcher brings her horse to a halt before leaping out the saddle and grabbing the reins. She walks briskly and opens her arms as Emoria lunges and hugs her around her neck. Her thin legs wrap around the witcher’s waist and they nuzzle their foreheads against each as they approach the house. They’re too far away for the sorceresses to hear their reunion, but Yennefer can feel the excitement and joy radiating from the two girls. 

Emoria clings to Ciri as she ties her horse to a post. She shifts, moving around to hang from the witcher’s back as the ashen-haired woman greets Yennefer, Clarissa and Triss. The raven-haired woman crinkles her nose as she catches a whiff of the road still on Ciri, but she says nothing as they embrace. 

“Welcome back. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Ciri whispers into her hair. They lock eyes and she feels a nervous energy emit from the young woman. Connecting telepathically, an image flashes in her mind. Of a man with catlike eyes and hair the color of snow. Two swords are strapped to his back and his medallion glints from the sunlight. He’s atop a horse and riding next to him, dressed in colorful outfit, is a bard strumming a lute and adjusting the hat that sits crooked on a headful of brown hair. The surrounding landscape is familiar, just outside Vengerberg and the sky is bright and blue much like today. Yennefer ends the connection with a frown, before schooling her expression when she feels Emoria’s brown eyes on her. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” she says. Ciri looks away, but Yennefer cups her cheek and smiles. “I’m not upset with you. It’ll be fine.”

Triss breaks the tension by saddling up and hugging Ciri tightly. “Welcome home. I’ve baked a loaf of bread for you. But first you need a bath.”

Ciri laughs. “Mom is truly rubbing off on you. I was certain she would be the one to say something.”

“She considered it,” the redhead says, eyeing her lover. “Go on and freshen up.” Emoria whimpers and starts to withdraw her arms from around Ciri’s neck. 

“You can stay with her,” Yennefer says. Ciri and Emoria both beam at the sorceresses. The young witcher cradles Clarissa in her arms and heads inside with a bounce to her step. Yennefer and Triss stand and watch them, but after a moment the raven-haired sorceress turns back to the road and the image in Ciri’s mind. She wasn’t ready to see Geralt again. And she wasn’t in the mood to entertain Dandelion. Chewing the inside of her cheek, Yennefer thinks of ways to escape the confrontation that’s just around the corner. 

“Hey.” Triss holds her hand, squeezing it once. “It’s like you said, it’ll be okay.” 

And just like that, all concern of the witcher and his usual traveling companion are pushed to the recesses of Yennefer’s mind. She bumps shoulders with the redhead, grinning widely as the woman pulls her back inside the home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this letter chapter written for a while and I'm happy I can finally share it with you all! I love that Emoria felt comfortable enough to share some of her inner thoughts with Yen and Ciri. 
> 
> And I can't wait to write Geralt and Yennefer's reunion! So fair warning the next few chapters will be ansty! But the ending is a happy one I swear!
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos! They always work to fight my writer's block. As always I hope to have a new chapter up soon. Take care my friends! Be safe! <3


	22. It Will Be Okay

Triss kneels on the bed behind Ciri and licks the end of a piece of thread before pushing it through the eye of the needle in her hand. 

“You’re not mad, are you?” Ciri asks. She speaks softly, mindful of Emoria and Clarissa who doze on the other side of the bed. The girls fell asleep almost immediately after dinner. Triss thought Emoria would stay up for a while to squeeze out as many stories from the young witcher as she could. But the excitement of Ciri’s return must have overwhelmed the girl and she drifted off to sleep with little fuss or fight. 

Yennefer turns away from the small fire in the room and smiles at her daughter. “Not at you, no.” Triss glances at her lover. She could always read Yennefer’s mood, even before they began their relationship. The raven-haired woman runs a hand through her hair and Triss thinks she spots several strands falling down onto the rug. Her jaw is set tight and the redhead wants nothing more than to rush to her and kiss the tension from her body. But first she must tend to Ciri. 

“This may pinch,” she says in warning as she brings the needle closer to wound along her arm. It’s a few days old and Ciri took care to keep it covered while on the road. The stitchings are meant to placate Yennefer who fretted over it, though the injury isn’t too deep and will leave only the faintest scar behind. But Triss is more than happy to do this if it meant her lover had one less thing to worry over. She works quickly as she feels Ciri tense under her hand. 

“I wanted to write it down in the letter,” Ciri says, wincing. “But I wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate. I wanted to give you some warning though and…”

“Ciri, it’s fine. Truly.”

Triss is too concentrated on her task, but she wants to peer into Yennefer’s mind. She wouldn’t be surprised if she brushes up against the familiar wall that the raven-haired woman sets in place when the emotions are too much for her. This never bothered Triss. She could always circle around the uncomfortable topic, inching closer and closer until Yennefer had little choice but to acknowledge it. But the distance between the heart of this conversation (Geralt) and where Triss could safely start to dance around it was so large it would take years, possibly even decades, to cross. 

The raven-haired woman rises from her chair and stands in front of the small bedroom window. She crosses her arms over her chest, hugging herself. Triss notices all the signs of Yennefer’s distress. The tense shoulders. The huffs that are separated by mere seconds. The shuffling of her weight from one leg to the other. 

And the raven-haired sorceress has reasons to be agitated and afraid for what would come. 

She catches Yenenfer’s eye in the window’s faint reflection and gives her a comforting smile. Yennefer rubs her arms and teeters towards the door. 

“I’m glad you’ve returned safely,” she says to her daughter. “And I know you’re nervous for me. But I’ll deal with Geralt on my own. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ciri sighs. “Good night Mom.”

“Good night.” 

Triss and Ciri listen as Yennefer walks down the hall and enters her bedroom. The ashen-haired woman sighs again and buries her face in her hands. Triss finishes with the stitchings and wraps it in bandages for the night. 

“If I told you not to worry, what would you do?” Triss asks. 

“I’d worry even further.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Triss says, though it sounds unconvincing. She avoids those foresty green eyes as she covers the stitchings. “If anyone can deal with Geralt, it’s Yen. She’ll be fine.”

“But aren’t you worried? What if…” She trails off and looks over her shoulders at the two young girls that are fast asleep. Triss follows her gaze, smiling to herself as Emoria hugs the pillow close to her face and settles on her stomach. “What if Mom and Geralt...what would happen to Emoria and Clarissa? What would happen to you?”

“If I’m honest, I’m terrified. Being here with Yennefer and you girls for the past few months has been the longest I’ve known peace. I don’t want to lose that.” With the medical supplies packed away, Triss claims Yennefer’s old spot in the armchair and tucks one leg under the other. When Ciri first mentioned Geralt and Dandelion were in town, Triss felt as though a black hole had opened under her feet with inky tendrils wrapping around her ankles and dragging her down, choking the air from her lungs. She still feels as though she’s being dragged down into the darkness. But however she feels, she knows Yennefer is experiencing the same and more. 

“I love and trust Yen,” Triss continues. “And no matter how frightened I am that Destiny will intervene once again and reunite Yen and Geralt, I also know Yen loves me. So I just have to remind myself that it will be fine.”

Ciri cups her hands together and looks down at her lap. Triss watches her, waiting. “That first night when I saw you and Mom together, I was hesitant. And maybe a little annoyed,” she whispers. Triss remembers the young witcher’s time at Kaer Morhen and the countless ways she tried to ‘intervene’ when Triss and Geralt were alone. Their relationship was always warm when it was just Triss and Ciri, but as soon as the white haired witcher came into the room, Ciri morphed into a protector of sorts, casting Triss aside and sticking close to Geralt. It stung, but the redhead never held it against the girl. “There was always a part of me that wanted my old life back. There’s a safety in knowing some things would never change.”

“But you and Mom work together. I’ve never seen her this easily happy.” She pauses again and finally looks at Triss. “When I was a kid and the fall of Cintra was still a raw wound across my heart, I used to fantasize about my old life and I would picture Geralt and Yennefer being there with me, along with my grandmother and my friends. Nilfgaard would have never invaded or come looking for me and I could spend the rest of my days living a blissful life with my family. I knew it would never happen, that I’d never get that life back. But the fantasies sometimes kept my nightmares away.”

Triss’ head spins from Ciri’s use of ‘family.’ The redhead wasn’t a part of that vision, no matter how much warmth and love existed between them. When Ciri was a young girl, all she knew was her dream of becoming a witcher, Geralt’s devotion and Yennefer’s attention and care. Everyone else was a nice addition to her life, but the white haired witcher and the raven-haired sorceress were the only necessities Ciri needed. 

“Now though, I’d sooner rip my hair out strand by strand than lose this home.” 

Triss smiles through her tears. “Let’s hope it never comes to that. And know that I don’t intend to be a replacement for Geralt. I love and adore you Ciri. I know our past wasn’t always the best and I made decisions that now I regret. But I want what’s best for you, Emoria and Clarissa.”

“Triss you hold just as much importance to my life as Mom and Geralt.” The redhead’s eyes go wide, her jaw going slack and her nails dig into the chair’s arms. Ciri tips her head to the side and grins. “I may have struggled to show you, but it doesn’t mean I never cherished you or valued what you brought to my life.”

“Thank you Ciri.” She stands and in three wide steps, crosses the room and kisses the young woman on her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll go check on Yen.” 

She checks on Emoria and Clarissa who slept through the entire conversation. She never considered rearing children. That was a path Yennefer pursued. But now that they have these two young girls in their care, Triss understands why her lover fought so hard for so many decades to become a mother. 

“Triss?”

“Hm?” She’s at the door now with one foot out in the hall. Their bedroom door is cracked, though she sees no movement inside. She hopes Yennefer has gone to bed, but knows most likely the woman is still up worrying over what to say to Geralt. 

“Is marriage on the table for you two?”

She goes red in the face as her entire body warms from an intense flush. Always articulate and mindful of her words, Triss finds herself sputtering like a drunkard when she answers Ciri. “I, I, I mean I never considered. Well, I thought about it. But i-it’s not like we’ve talked about marriage. Wh-who could even marry us? And...oh are you teasing me? I feel as though you’re having a laugh at my expense.”

Ciri covers her smile with her hand. “I was being sincere, but your response is priceless. Gods, I need to ask Mom to see if she’ll act the same way.” Her shoulders shake as she tries to contain her laughter. 

Still blushing, Triss huffs and stamps her foot lightly on the floor. “Good night Ciri,” she says with a mildly serious tone. 

“Good night Triss,” the woman says in a songlike tone. 

The redhead walks to the main bedroom with a slight pout and crossed arms. Marriage? Gods, what a delight. She has thought about it, but wondered if it was too soon to bring up to Yennefer. Truthfully, she’s afraid of how her lover would react. 

But all thoughts of marriage and a lavish wedding are pushed to the margins as she enters the bedroom and spots Yennefer seated on the edge of their bed. Silent tears drip onto the rug near her bare feet and her face is curtained by her curly raven locks. Yennefer looks up once she hears Triss enter and quickly wipes at her eyes to hide the fact that she was crying. The redhead mentally kicks herself for not checking on Yennefer earlier. No doubt the woman spent these past few minutes letting her emotions pour out of her. 

“Ciri’s gone to bed then?” she asks, still wiping at her eyes. 

Triss nods and plants herself next to her lover. She takes one of Yennefer’s hands and brings it to her lips to kiss the knuckles. 

“I’m being silly, I know,” Yenenfer says. She starts to relax as Triss plants kisses on the back of her hand, up along her arm, neck and jaw. 

“You’re not being silly. You’re human Yen. It happens to the rest of us at some point.”

“You mean other women have had to face their former lover after spending the last few months comfortably cooped up with three adopted children and a new lover, who was also romantically involved with said former past flame?” Triss rolls her eyes and places one final kiss on Yennefer’s lips, before cupping her face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be an ass to you. But, what do I even say to him?”

“What do you want to say?”

Yennefer shuts her eyes, releasing a shaky breath. Triss can feel the intensity of that puff of air and the pain that it drudged up. “That I’ve been hurt before, but when he was the source of my pain it felt as though I was drowning in a storm with no light to guide me to safety. I was in a dark place and I had to drag myself out, otherwise…” She shudders and turns away. Triss tosses her arms over Yennefer’s shoulders and hugs her. “I shut myself away from others because I couldn’t take that pain anymore. I thought I was content being alone these past few years. Now that you’re here, I know I just wanted someone who would be happy with loving me.” 

The raven-haired woman tucks her head under Triss’ and begins crying again. The redhead rocks them side to side and rubs Yennefer’s back. 

“I thought I could avoid him for a few years longer. But I guess he’s tired of sending unanswered letters.”

“He wants to make amends. Possibly he feels guilty over everything that happened.” It’s what he and Triss talked about when she finally decided to visit his estate in Toussaint. Over wine from his vineyard and a home cooked meal, the pair apologized for everything that happened between them. At the time, she felt the flicker of romantic attraction towards him. But deep down she still yearned for Yennefer and would have been content with just a return to their old friendship before Geralt appeared in their lives. So while she enjoyed the comforts Corvo Bianco had to offer, Triss thought of ways to reconnect with the sorceress in Vengerburg. Hugging her lover closer to her, Triss feels grateful for having made the right decision.

“Yen, I believe you should tell Geralt everything on your heart. Don’t for a second think of holding anything back from him.”

“I won’t Triss,” the raven-haired woman whispers, sounding weary beyond measure. She pulls herself away and wipes at her eyes. “This is all shit.”

“Hm. Yeah, I know.” 

The raven-haired woman stands and prepares herself for bed. Triss watches her silently, before deciding to slip into her own chemise and crawl under the covers. Yennefer lays on her back, staring at the ceiling over them. Her lips are pursed together and she holds the edge of the top quilt in a tight grasp. 

“Yen?”

“Yes?”

“If you want to cry some more, I’ll hold you for as long as you need.” 

It’s quiet between them as Yennefer thinks. 

“I don’t need to cry anymore,” she whispers. “But I’d appreciate being held tonight.” 

Triss crosses the small distance separating them and casts her arm around Yennefer’s midsection. With one tug, they’re pressed together and Yennefer hums as Triss nuzzles into the cloud of raven hair in front of her. 

“Thank you,” comes the whispered reply. 

Triss squeezes her waist. “Anytime.” 

* * *

In the morning, their bedroom door squeaks open followed by a gentle  _ pat-pat-pat  _ of someone walking into the room. There’s a puff of cool air on Triss’ back and legs as the covers are lifted. But the coolness gives way to a familiar warmth and she smiles as a pair of small arms are placed against her back. 

“Good morning Emoria.”

“Morning.” 

Triss turns to the side, but Yennefer grips her hand tightly keeping the arm around her waist in place. The only visible part of the girl is the top half of her head, while the rest of her is buried under the bed’s covers. The corners of her eyes are pinched together and Triss knows the girl’s smile is hidden by the quilt. 

“Come to help me with breakfast?” 

Emoria nods. 

“Give me a moment.” She rolls back to her lover. “Yen?”

“Mhm?”

“You have to let me go.”

There’s a snort and soft growl. Yennefer grips her hand tighter. 

“Yen?” she calls again, smiling. They run through this game every morning and Triss has yet ro grow tired of it. She always enjoyed her rest and sleeping in on days when there was little to check off on her ‘to do’ list. And while they are now responsible for the care of Emoria and Clarissa, they’ve fallen into a routine that keeps them busy, though never overwhelmed. She and Yennefer could spend their mornings like this without throwing off their schedules. This game is one of the many joys of their relationship and Triss looks forward to it every morning. 

Emoria climbs on Triss’ shoulder and peers down at the other sorceress. “Lady Yennefer, don’t you want breakfast?” 

Yennefer cracks open an eye. “You’re turning against me too?” she asks, grinning. 

“Never! But I am hungry.” 

“Oh very well.” She squeezes Triss’ hand before letting go. With one hand, she tussles Emoria’s hair. “Good morning sweet girl.” 

More of Emoria’s weight bears down on Triss as the girl leans into the simple touch and bids Yennefer a ‘good morning.’ Triss and Emoria make their escape before Yennefer can change her mind and they slip downstairs into the kitchen. As the girl goes around opening the curtains and letting more sunlight in, Triss checks on the bread dough she started last night. It has risen to a nice level and she sprinkles fresh flour on the counter before rolling the dough on top. Emoria begins to knead it and fits it into a metal pan to bake.

Like most parts of Triss’ new life, cooking breakfast for the family has been a simple routine for her. Though Emoria’s presence is a new addition, they’ve grown accustomed to each other. The girl anticipates Triss’ needs, often appearing at her elbow with some ingredient just as the redhead is about to search for it. Triss suspects this overly helpful behavior is a response to some previous trauma. But she always greets the girl with a warm smile and a soft ‘thanks.’ It never fails to bring out a bashful smile from the girl. And while she’s outwardly pleased, Triss chews over what could have happened to Emoria to make her so attentive or constantly anticipating someone’s needs, but always draws a blank.

They work as usual, divvying up their duties to complete the meal before the others rise. But Emoria is reserved this morning, lost in her own thoughts. She stares off without truly seeing what’s in front of her and more than once, Triss is forced to call her name multiple times to catch her attention. 

There’s a lull in their work, a few minutes where everything is in its right skillet, pan or pot. Triss uses the break to pour herself a cup of coffee and some tea for Emoria. The girl hops onto one of the few empty spaces and kicks her legs in the air, staring down at her knees. She blinks back to the moment when the warm mug is set beside her and the redhead stands in front of her with her own mug pressed to her lips. 

“What’s going on up here?” she asks, lightly tapping Emoria’s temple. 

“Nothing.” Emoria tests the warmth of her tea, sticking her tongue out with a wince as she judges it too hot to drink right now. 

“You sure?” The girl nods, but still avoids Triss’ eye. The redhead knows that whatever is bugging Emoria centers around Geralt and his impending visit to the house. She wouldn’t be surprised if the girl was pretending to be asleep last night and overhead much of Triss and Ciri’s conversation. 

“Hey,” she says, setting her coffee on the counter. 

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to worry, okay?” She cups Emoria’s chin, tilting it up until their eyes are locked together. “That  _ nothing  _ that’s bothering you, let it go. I promise things will be okay.”

“I...okay.” 

“And I’ll tell you a closely guarded secret.” 

Emoria’s eyes go wide and she leans forwards. “What?”

“Yen’s favorite cookies feature raspberries and white chocolate.”

“We should bake them for her.”

Triss nods and finishes off her first mug of coffee before refilling it. “My thoughts exactly. We’ll wait until she goes out and then we can start them.”

The stairs creak and Triss and Emoria both straighten up as Yennefer, Ciri and Clarissa walk in. The raven-haired sorceress spots the conspiratorial look the pair share and arches an eyebrow. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Nothing,” Emoria is quick to say. She jumps off the counter and goes to grab several clean mugs. “Do you want coffee? Or tea?” 

“I’d like an actual answer,” Yennefer says, smiling so the girl doesn’t think she’s being reprimanded or scolded. “But I’ll pry it out of one of you later.”

“Our lips are sealed,” Emoria says. She pours fresh coffee in two separate mugs and takes it over to Ciri and Yennefer. The young witcher inhales the scent of roasted coffee beans and sighs, murmuring that it smells heavenly. Yennefer adds a pinch of sugar and milk before taking her first sip. Triss plates everything and waving her hand in the air, sends the platters sailing until they land neatly on the wooden table. She takes the freshly baked bread out of the pan, drawing some heat from it with a simple spell so she can cut into it without burning her hand. Next to the fresh slices of bread, Triss sets a sauce of blackberry jam and several scoops of butter. She joins the others at the table, sitting directly across from Yennefer. 

Conversation is sparse as they all enjoy their meal. Triss tries not to read into the silence, though the air is heavy with an unsettling discomfort. She looks to Yennefer often and is always pleasantly surprised to see her lover staring back at her. They smile, almost shy, like in the early days of their relationship and it warms Triss’ heart. Just as she’s finishing her meal she feels a familiar presence slip into her thoughts. 

_ I’m not leaving you Triss.  _

And Triss blushes because she shouldn’t need such confirmation, but hearing Yennefer say that does ease her fears. 

The redhead sets her cup on the table and tussles Emoria’s hair, drawing out a smile from the girl. It chips away at the awkwardness of the day. “Let’s all stop moping and get on with our day,” she says. “You and I have work to do.” 

Emoria winks at her and Yennefer purses her lips together. 

“What work?”

“You’ll see.” Emoria stretches her short arms above her head, before letting them drop back in her lap. 

“Hm.” Yennefer finishes the rest of her coffee and rises from her seat just as someone knocks on the door. The sound rings heavy throughout the house like a bell toiling in a tower. For a brief moment, everyone is still as they look to each other. Yennefer flexes her fingers. Ciri worries her bottom lip between her teeth. Emoria grips her mug with such strength that Triss almost fears the ceramic with shatter and cut into her. Only Clarissa seems unconcerned with the knock and the person on the other side of the door. She burrows into Ciri’s neck, a content sigh passing through her lips as her eyes flutter shut. 

And Triss sits in her chair with her nails digging into the arm’s underside. She repeats a four word sentence in her mind, over and over, willing herself to believe it: 

**_It will be okay._ **

The person knocks again. Yennefer exhales and nods to herself, before heading into the hallway. She stops, turns slightly and gives Triss a loving smile that reveals her perfect teeth and a powerful warmth in those lilac eyes. Triss inhales and holds the breath for a moment.

**_It will be okay._ **

Over the sound of her own rapidly beating heart, she listens as Yennefer treads down the hall, stopping just in front of the main door. The redhead’s mouth is suddenly dry. But again she tells herself:

**_It will be okay._ **

The front door opens and Triss hears someone tuning a lute just outside. The noise invades the quiet of the house and for a flash, she wants to take the instrument and strike it against the cobblestone road. 

**_It will be okay._ **

Yennefer clears her throat before speaking. “Geralt.” Triss fights the urge to rub her eyes with the heels of her hands. 

_**It will be okay.** _

“Hey Yen. Long time. I...can I come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this chapter from Triss' perspective. I actually enjoyed writing this and may try to squeeze in another chapter or two where we follow Triss. 
> 
> Since this chapter ends somewhat on a cliffhanger, I'll try to have a follow up chapter soon! Oh and you may have noticed that this fic will have 27 chapters in total. That's my best guesstimate as to when it will end. It may hit 28 or 29 chapters, so don't worry too much. And I promise it will be a happy ending! But there will be some more angst in the coming chapters. 
> 
> As always, stay safe and take care! Sending good vibes and so much love to you all! Until next time! <3


	23. The Raven & The Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get the weekend started with two chapters in one day! Both chapters are pretty long, so enjoy! Also it's time to board the train to Angst-ville!

Geralt of Rivia, the witcher whose destiny was once bound to Yennefer’s, stands on the opposite side of her front door rubbing the back of his neck while trying to hold her gaze. The sorceress studies him, amazed that for the first time in her life she feels no strong pull towards him. There’s the familiar warm thrum that she feels towards most of her oldest friends. And there’s a flicker of approval as she appraises the fit of his dark leather armor that he no doubt spent the night polishing. His white hair is cut to the tips of his ear and parted down the middle. He smells of cedar and smoke, which in the past would have made Yennefer dizzy with desire. But now, she just notes its pleasant notes as if she were taking stock of the current weather. 

“Can I come in?” he asks again, scratching at his beard. She always preferred him clean shaven, never liking how his rough hairs and whiskers scratched her face when they kissed or embraced. 

“It smells good in there! Is there a plate for me?” A brightly colored feathered hat peeks around Geralt’s bicep and Yennefer is nearly face to face to Dandelion. 

She rolls her eyes. “Dandelion, you look...present.” 

“Hello to you too, Yennefer.” Before she can react, he’s inside her home, ambling down the hallway while taking in the decor. Geralt clears his throat and Yennefer mutters for him to come in, just as Dandelion reaches the kitchen’s entryway. He stops and whistles softly. “And hello Triss, Ciri and strange children I don’t know.”

If the announcement throws Geralt off kilter, Yennefer can’t tell. He shuffles inside and follows the sorceress down the hall. When Dandelion is within reach, Yennefer pushes him slightly, trying to force him further down the hall and away from Triss and the others. He ‘hrumphs’ and straightens his clothing, but gapes as Geralt grabs his arm and drags him further inside the house. Ciri is the first to move, shooting out of her seat with such vigor that Clarissa makes a small noise of protest. 

“I’ll go keep them entertained.” She slides by Yennefer, offering a gentle smile which the sorceress returns. 

“Tell Geralt I’ll be with him momentarily,” she says. “We’ll go for a walk. Best to have this conversation somewhere without a nosy bard.” 

Ciri nods and joins Geralt and Dandelion in the other room. In the time that it took for Yennefer to answer the door and return, Triss poured herself another cup of coffee. Her third or fourth. The woman’s leg shakes under the table and she stares into the kitchen that needs to be cleaned. Emoria sits with a bowed head, her bottom lip trembling and Yennefer’s heart breaks at the sight. She doesn’t know who to go comfort first. 

She holds her hand out to Emoria, who is slow to take it. Though there’s no resistance when the sorceress pulls her to her feet. This has drawn Triss’ attention, who watches as the raven-haired sorceress and the young girl comes to stand in front of her. Yennefer hugs Emoria to her. 

“Need anything while I’m away?”

Triss clears her throat before answering. “No.”

“How about you?” she asks, jostling Emoria. 

“No, I’m okay.” 

Yennefer isn’t sure how to lift the mood other than by having her talk with Geralt and promptly putting it behind her. She understands Triss’ trepidation and Emoria’s need to withdraw. If the tables were turned, if she had to wait with bated breath while Triss and Geralt walked off to have a ‘talk’ Yennefer wouldn’t know what to do. No amount of pacing would release enough energy to keep her calm. She was never one for relaxing tasks like baking or gardening, thus she couldn’t throw herself into some mind numbing activity. Truthfully, had Geralt arrived with the intention to speak to Triss in private, Yennefer would likely send him through a portal to the furthest point she could think of. 

She feels guilty for leaving them in such a grey area until she returns. But it only prompts her to get this over with. Hugging Emoria once more before letting go, she leans over and peeks Triss on the side of her head. 

“I promise to come back soon,” she whispers into those intense red locks. Triss brings her hands up to Yennefer’s jaw, tracing a line until she reaches her chin before letting her hand fall away. She forces herself to leave then, not wanting to let everyone’s misery drag out for much longer. 

It takes little time for Yennefer to freshen up. She checks her makeup in the mirror and pulls her hair back into a ponytail, tying it with the silken sash Triss gifted to her months ago. Once she deems herself presentable, Yennefer leaves, noting that Emoria’s bedroom door is cracked though the girl is nowhere to be seen inside. She hears Triss cleaning in the kitchen and spots Emoria at her desk in Yennefer’s study. The sorceress sighs in relief and continues on. 

Ciri sits between Geralt and Dandelion on the couch with Clarissa in her lap. She holds the baby close to the witcher, encouraging him to play with the child. Geralt is clearly distressed, his smile tight lipped as he looks back and forth between Ciri and Clarissa. Dandelion examines the baby as though she’s a foriegn creature and is rebuffed by small pudgy hands whenever he tries to poke her. Geralt hears Yennefer arrive and jumps to his feet. 

“Let’s get some air,” she says, jerking her head towards the door. “I may stop in some shops as well.” 

“Have fun being a pack mule.” Dandelion grins and picks up his lute, strumming it once. “I’ll win this child over with my amazing voice and musical skills.” 

Yennefer couldn’t deny the bard has an excellent voice and his reputation is well-deserved. But she’s sorry she has to subject Triss and the others to his antics for the next few hours. 

Before leaving, she pokes her head in the study. 

“I’ll see you later,” she says, a last ditch attempt at making the girl feel better. 

Emoria glances at the open door, sees Geralt standing behind Yennefer and immediately turns back to the parchment on her desk. “Okay.” Yennefer stands there, hoping the girl will say something else, but she picks up her quill and returns to her work. 

Triss washes the dishes with such force that Yennefer fears she may scratch herself. But she spares a quick peek over her shoulder as the raven-haired sorceress bids her goodbye. 

“Triss, you look well,” Geralt says. 

“So do you Geralt.” 

Outside, Yennefer sucks in as much fresh air as she can before her lungs starts to burn. She releases it with a series of coughs, feeling the first inkling of a headache coming on. 

“You okay?”

“Fine.” She pulls her cloak closer to her body. “Let’s go.” 

They start off by winding their way through the narrow alleys and streets of Vengerberg. Yennefer walks with no destination in mind and Geralt voices no complaints about their wandering. They do their best to avoid large crowds, a feat that’s accomplished with ease as many people give the witcher a wide berth. Sweat builds on Yennefer’s forehead which she wipes away with a gloved hand. It’s a comfortably warm spring day, one better spent cuddle up with a book and Triss tucked under her arm. But instead she’s walking with the witcher who she once loved dearly. 

Yennefer isn’t sure how best to begin the conversation. If she had no intention of seeing Geralt after this, she’d launch into a tirade beginning with him overestimating his ability to be warmly welcomed in her home and ending with her tearfully yelling at him for betraying her trust so many times. But she doesn’t want to completely wash her hands of him. She couldn’t, not with Ciri still feeling an attachment towards the both of them. And deep down, begrudgingly, she could admit that she enjoyed his companionship. She thinks back to that snowy mountain where they fought the djinn to undo Geralt’s last wish. In the aftermath of that fight, they sat in a comfortable silence with the wind and sun on their face and for those few moments, Yennefer wasn’t afraid of battling the Wild Hunt or what Ciri’s fate would ultimately be. It was peaceful with Geralt sitting there by her side. 

He is stoic, tapping into his quiet strength when he needs it. That’s what first made her fall in love with him. His quiet tempered the storm that always seemed to rage within her. Even in their arguments, his replies were slow and placid, contrasting with her swift, harsh, deep cuts. Their disagreements were frequent and challenging, with Yennefer looking for a more noticeable emotional response when Geralt had none to give. 

At an intersection, he stops and jerks his thumb to the left pointing to the open air market that’s already busy. Yennefer follows behind wordlessly. People found Geralt and other witchers to be physically imposing and intimidating, quietly eerie, especially when they directed those yellow feline like eyes towards someone who had little prior interaction with witchers. But Yennefer was always attracted to his tall, muscular figure. Even when they first met, Yennefer found something intriguing about the man and wished to discover why she was so fascinated by him. When they were intimate, she liked to run her lips along his myriad scars, kissing them and memorizing their shapes. She’d test her knowledge of his body, searching out any healed wounds he may have acquired in the time they were apart. 

Geralt made her laugh. Often. It was one of the reasons she ignored so many red flags. Like everything else about him, his wit was hidden behind many layers. It took some time for Yennefer to notice it was even there. It was another thing that made her fall in love. 

He scans the stalls, humming to himself as he thinks. Finding something that he likes, he tells Yennefer that he’ll be back momentarily and dashes off to a sweets vendor. She watches, arching a neatly trimmed eyebrow as he points to several candies and treats and fishes money from a purse to pay the vendor. Geralt’s candies are placed in a linen bag, which he holds in one hand as he waves with the other. 

“Never knew you had such a sweet tooth,” Yennefer muses as he rejoins her. 

Geralt opens the bag, peeking inside to inspect all that he purchased before holding it out to the sorceress. “It’s not for me,” he says, yellow eyes shifting to look over her shoulder. “It’s for the girls. For your girls,” he clarifies. 

He was always charming and kind. It’s what made both Yennefer and Triss and so many others fall in bed with him. But his charm was genuine, which made him that much more appealing to countless women who had their hearts broken by charming men with slick smiles. Geralt’s smile was never slick or sly. Maybe bashful when Yennefer teased him about something. But there was never any ulterior motive to his actions. Which unsettled Yennefer when they first met. Now, she appreciates there are still people like Geralt in this world. 

She accepts his offering, storing it in a magical pocket until they return home. He looks at her then. 

“I won’t insult your intelligence and say my visit is completely innocent or that I just happened to be in town. I miss you Yen and hoped I could convince you to let us start over.” His nose crinkles just a fraction. “But you smell of Triss and she smells of you. I-I think I understand what that means.” 

Yennefer gulps, mouth dry, throat raw. Despite her lingering anger and frustration towards him, she never wanted or intended to throw her relationship with Triss in his face. She didn’t want to parade their love around to stoke his misery. But she wasn’t going to deny him the truth. He deserved to know. 

“Yes, Triss and I are together now.”

“And the girls are yours as well?”

“Not legally. Not yet at least.”

His shoulders fall away from his ears and he smiles. “I’m happy for you.” He says it with his genuine charm. 

Tears prick the corners of her eyes as her body trembles. He steps forward, preparing to take her in his arms which she doesn’t fight against. “This would be easier if you were an asshole, gods damn you.” 

Their bodies shake as he chuckles softly. Yennefer presses her cheek against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Though the leather armor is cool and smooth against her, she can feel his warmth. It’s not like Triss’, but it’s still comforting. Her arms circle just above his waist and they stand in the embrace as Yennefer quietly cries. 

When they were once together, wrapped up in the machinations of destiny, she would have portaled to a private room to strip him of his armor and underclothes. But now, she’s just content to stay here with him, wrapped snugly in his arms and against his chest. He is a dear friend and she’s happy he’s here. Even if she still wants to unload the pain that’s weighed on her heart and soul since that moment at the Kingfisher’s Inn. Still, she feels a moment of levity, much like that quiet moment after fighting the djinn. And she smiles against his chest. 

“I missed you too, Geralt.”

* * *

They hike to a grassy knoll that sits apart from the main section of the town. They pass a tavern, tucked away from everything else and Geralt pops in to purchase a large bottle of ale and two tankards for them to drink from. He cradles it in the crook of his arm as they climb up to a spot that lets them look over the city. Yennefer conjures a blanket to sit on and tucks her legs to the side as Geralt pours healthy servings for the two of them. 

“No wine from your vineyard?” 

“It’s at the inn. I’ll bring some by later. I was saving it.”

“For a special occasion?” Yennefer asks, the corner of her mouth ticking up in a smirk. 

He leans back on his elbow and stares ahead, though there’s a humorous glint in his eyes. “You and Triss can enjoy it. How did it happen anyway? You two?”

Yennefer sets her tankard to the side and places her weight on her hands. She closes her eyes as the sun peeks over a cloud and warms her face. “She was traveling when a snowstorm forced her off the road. The inns were full, so she sought shelter at my home. It was an interesting couple of days that turned into some wonderful months.”

“And the girls?” 

“Clarissa, the baby, had fallen ill and was brought to Triss to be healed. Emoria, the older girl, broke into my home in an attempt to ‘rescue’ her sister.”

Geralt laughs. “I can’t imagine you were pleased by that.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Yennefer says, before taking a sip of the ale. It’s cool and bitter on her tongue. She shivers as it shocks her system. She could drink anything that was set in front of her, but she always preferred something that ended with a sweet and pleasant note. Not something that was harsh and bitter. “But she’s a sweet girl. Kind and warm. Inquisitive. Sensitive. Withdrawn on her bad days, but thankfully those are starting to become few and far in between.” 

“She didn’t seem pleased to see me though.” 

Yennefer nods. There wasn’t any hostility directed towards the witcher, but Emoria made no attempts at trying to figure him out or warm up to him like she did when Tissaia and Philippa visited. She wondered how she was getting on now with Dandelion in the house. There’s a small part of her brain that tells her to worry and to get back as soon as she can. She feels the spikes of anxiety dig into her shoulders and neck, pricking her in an attempt to get her to rush back. But Triss and Ciri are there and can be a shelter for the girl. Yennefer takes another sip of ale, letting the drink sit in my mouth as she refocuses her thoughts. 

“Her parents abandoned her,” she says in a low voice. Though with his witcher mutigens, Geralt can still hear her. “Where once she was afraid they would never come back for her, now she fears Triss and I will discard her. That orphanage director, Granger,  _ the hag  _ has planted terrible ideas in Emoria’s mind and we’re working hard to untangle all of that shit.” 

Her blood still boils when she thinks back on that conversation. How that woman sat there with a smug, self-assured aura around her, while Triss and Yennefer struggled to control their anger. Yennefer could only think of a few times where her lover had given into her anger, but that day she sensed how much Triss struggled to keep her composure. And while Yennefer kept their rage at bay by saying it wouldn’t do well to attack an elderly woman, the truth was she didn’t want to have to clean up what was sure to be a viscous mess if they harmed Granger. 

“My only regret is that we didn’t get Emoria and Clarissa out of the orphanage sooner. The vile things  _ that woman  _ said to Emoria makes me want to cry and destroy the closest thing to me. And Triss feels similarly.” 

She finishes the rest of her ale, feeling a slight buzz and a flush from the alcohol. She’s sure her cheeks have gone pink. Geralt gladly refills her cup and tops off his own. 

It grows quiet between them again. Yennefer thinks to peer into his thoughts. Though he often complained, Geralt did little to hide his feelings and thoughts from her when she used telepathy. She found his opinions fascinating and his observations intriguing. He noticed things that so many ignored. It forced her to slow down and take better note of her surroundings and appreciate those small, beautiful moments that occurred every day. If she was to read his mind now, she imagines she’d find him replaying some intimate moment between them as he wrestles with the realization that their time as a couple is over. 

“If it had been me on the other side of that door in that snowstorm,” he begins, staring at the floating clouds, “where would we be now?” 

Yennefer hugs her knees to her chest already feeling off-balanced by this conversation. But it needed to happen. If Geralt is going to remain in her life, they need to be vulnerable and open with each other. 

“I don’t know Geralt,” she admits. “The romantic in me would say we would have fallen back into what we once were. Maybe we’d be on your estate, lounging among the rolling hills while tasting your latest wine. The realist in me knows it would take  _ years _ for me to ever trust you with my heart again in any romantic fashion. And my pessimist side tells me I would have slammed the door in your face and left you out in the storm.”

He nods. “Yeah, you would have let me freeze in the cold.”

“Probably,” she says, with a small smile. Though she knows that’s not true. She’d let him in to keep warm and she would have done her best to avoid him until it was safe for him to travel once more. She wasn’t that cruel. Not anymore. 

“I wrote to you. I hoped you would have at least written a short response back.” 

Yennefer’s legs bounce inside her arms. “I burned your letters. I was still so upset with how everything ended.” She knows she’s inching closer to another tearful moment. But she doesn’t care. She can’t maintain that facade that she never cared for Geralt or that his actions and their joint selfishness, didn’t ultimately get under her skin. 

“I wish you would have given me the chance to explain myself.” Geralt sits up, disrupting their ale and causing some to slosh over the edge and spill onto the blanket. 

“Then do it now,” she says, wavering between anger, weariness and aching pain. “Since you’ve trekked halfway across the Continent to try and win me back, with little regard to whether or not I actually wanted to see you, explain yourself. It won’t change anything though Geralt. I will warn you now.”

“I don’t intend to steal you away from your new family,” he says, with the tiniest amount of jealousy seeping through. He catches himself and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “All I knew was my Path. Slay monsters. Collect the bounty. Travel to the next town and look for work once more. There was nothing glamorous about that life and the solitude didn’t bother me. Then we met and you were so determined to have more than what life prescribed to you. Even as a sorceress, you craved something more than what your lot usually received. And for the first time I thought it was safe for me to do the same.” 

“Even when that quest for more led me to getting roped into royal business that, frankly, I gave little fucks about, I pursued it because I knew my  _ more  _ involved Ciri and hopefully you too.” Yennefer watches as Geralt grinds the heel of his boot into a patch of grass. “We live such long lives Yen. Even with the dangers of my job, it’s possible for me to live for centuries. Is it terrible that I didn’t want to spend those centuries by myself?”

“It’s not,” Yennefer says, shaking her head. She understood. Tissaia is so old, she can’t recall her age. Philippa and Margarita both have several centuries behind them and Yennefer is closer to 200 than 100. Vesemir’s age was shrouded in mystery and obscurity before he perished during their first confrontation with the Hunt. To live such lengthy lives, meant to subject oneself to many days spent with only your own company and thoughts to keep you sane. Though there were plenty of mages who lived such a life. 

“I can’t be angry at your quest for more. Gods know I’ve rarely been satisfied with what I had,” she says. “But in our pursuit, we hurt each other. Deeply.” 

She takes a long swig of her ale, building the courage to be completely honest and vulnerable. Her hands shake as she sets them to her side and she feels Geralt shift beside her, twisting to look at her with his complete attention. 

“I could excuse all the other women you slept with. I could forgive your lapse in memory, in due time. I could even forgive your lengthy affair with Triss. But what I can’t forgive, what finally broke me was how you pitted Triss and I against each other. How you said you ‘I love you’ to us both, giving us the hope that finally you were finally committed to one of us. You strung us along, without an ounce of concern on how we would feel if and when we uncovered the truth.” Yennefer inhales through her nose, not caring that tears are falling down her face. “I almost hated Triss. I wanted to blame her for  _ everything _ . But I couldn’t because I thought there was something wrong  _ with me _ . I couldn’t get you to commit because I  _ lacked  _ something.” She’s so close to asking him what she lacked, but she tells herself it doesn’t matter. In her younger days, the question would have nagged at her until she finally broke down and pestered him for an answer. But now that she’s older, she knows she doesn’t lack anything. She never did. Geralt couldn’t commit. Neither she nor Triss could correct that within him no matter how hard they worked to do so. 

He bows his head and sighs. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t want to lose either of you.”

“And yet you did lose us in the end.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry Yen. I wish though you would have been more trusting towards me. I wish you didn’t take actions and leave me in the dark. You wanted to keep Ciri safe,” he says, puffing out his chest. “But we should have done that together.”

“You’re right. We should have. But a part of me wanted to keep Ciri to myself. And I didn’t trust you to not break my heart.”

“A self-fulfilling prophecy I guess.”

She nods, her smile turning sad as she wipes the corners of her eyes. Their problems seem so simple now that they’ve laid it all out. She and Geralt are both stubborn people, who feel deeply and try not to show it. Had they taken that chance and communicated with each other, maybe, just maybe things would be different. Yennefer doesn’t mourn what could have been, but she does wonder. Though her wondering ceases when she realizes a life with Geralt would be a life without Emoria, Clarissa and possibly even Triss. A life far removed from the one she has now. The one that she loves dearly. 

Geralt moves closer and throws his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Instantly, her head drops to rest against him and they both sigh together. 

“I like spending time with you Yen,” he whispers. “I enjoy your company.”

“And I enjoy those awkward conversational skills.”

He grunts, disturbing her dark hair with his breath. “I’m better with letters. I wish you hadn’t burned them.”

“Did they all begin with ‘Dear friend?’” She makes sure to keep her tone light, though Geralt has endured much harsher teasing from her. 

“Only a few.”

“Oh gosh Geralt!” She clutches her stomach as she chuckles. He laughs too, the sound bubbling up from deep within. It was something else she liked about him. His laughter is always a sudden surprise to her and it rings in her mind for hours after. She’s glad she gets to hear that sound again. 

They sit like that, finishing off the rest of their ale and catching up on the two years that passed since they last saw each other. He talks of Corvo Bianco and the extra money he earns producing wine in the region. The income is so good, he rarely takes witcher jobs. Yennefer promises to bring the girls there for a visit when she can, wanting to introduce them to a different city than the one they grew up in. Geralt is interested in Emoria and Clarissa, often interrupting Yennefer’s stories to ask about the girls. 

“It’s best if you spend time with them,” she says. “Clarissa is happy just to be held by anyone. But Emoria will skirt around you for a time. Possibly longer than usual given she knows of our history together. Once she’s comfortable, she’ll come to you with questions about being a witcher.”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth tugs up in a soft smile. “And when will you actually adopt them?”

Yennefer sighs. “Soon I hope. I think Triss and I have put off the  _ other  _ hard conversation for too long.”

“Want me to pay this Granger a visit?” 

The sorceress can see it now. The old croon cowering before Geralt as he stands in the doorway, his face in shadow with the sun behind him. And it would give the woman a much needed fright. Yennefer chuckles to herself. 

“No. But thanks. I appreciate the offer.” 

“I’ll be in town for a few days if you change your mind.” 

Once the ale is finished, Geralt stands and helps Yennefer to her feet. With a flick of her wrist, the blanket disappears and the pair leave the grassy knoll. It’s midday and Yennefer is exhausted. She hopes to climb into bed and take a quick nap before starting dinner. She can’t wait to rescue Triss and the others from Dandelion and to hug them close. She’ll reassure them over and over that she’s not going anywhere. She and Geralt are friends and nothing more will spark between them. 

Looking from the corner of her eye, she sees that Geralt once again appears stoic and calm. She knows it will take time for him to truly bounce back and accept that his two former lovers are now together. But there’s no animosity between them and the path is clear for a solid friendship between him and the sorceresses. 

“The meals at the inn can be pricey,” she says, looking ahead again. “Join us for dinner tonight.”

He nods silently. 

Yennefer feels as though she’s walking on clouds and her mood only improves further when she spots her home just ahead. She recalls Emoria and Triss’ whispers early this morning and knows some surprise is waiting for her just on the other side of the door. 

Geralt stiffens besides her. “Something’s wrong.”

“W-what? How can you tell?” Which is an absurd question. Geralt’s senses are heightened compared to other humans. He notices dangerous or distressing situations well before she ever could. But Yennefer can’t imagine what could be wrong inside her home. Picking up the pace, she nearly breaks into a sprint trying to reach the front door. A pale face is in the window but promptly disappears. The door swings open and Triss stands there on the verge of crying. 

It takes several wide steps, but Yennefer is in front of her lover who nearly collapses into her open arms. The redhead sobs and it sounds awful to Yennefer’s ears. 

“Triss? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She’s aware of Geralt squeezing by her to slip into the house. He takes the stairs two at a time and disappears around the corner. But Triss’ trembling in her arms draws Yennefer’s attention again and she runs her hands over the woman’s body, afraid she may have injured herself. “Triss, please tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.” 

“I went to Emoria’s room. She wanted to take a nap. I thought it would be good for her.” She chokes on a sob, but presses on. “She’s been worried ever since you left. Ciri and I tried to reassure her, to tell her everything would be okay. But she just closed herself off.” 

Yennefer guides them out the door and into the kitchen. The house is too silent. She wants to call for Ciri or Dandelion, but Triss has a tight grip on her and Yennefer worries that if she leaves, the redhead will fall apart. Helping Triss into a seat, Yennefer reaches for her hands that are too cold and clammy. She’s dimly aware of Geralt moving about on the second floor. 

“Okay, I’m back now,” Yennefer says in a gentle voice. “What happened? Where’s Emoria and the others?” Every time she has to repeat her question, Yennefer’s mind comes up with a new disaster. Maybe the girl is injured. Maybe she’s locked herself in some forgotten part of the house. Maybe she and Triss had an argument. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. 

Geralt bowls down the steps and finds the sorceresses in the kitchen. “I picked up her scent. I’ll find her.”

Yennefer whips her head back and forth to look at the two. Find her? W-what?

“I’m so sorry Yen. I went to check on her after an hour but...she…” Triss’ face twists as she starts to sob again. Yennefer leans away and Geralt is quick to take over. She scrambles to her feet, racing up the stairs. Her foot catches the edge of the top step and she nearly falls flat on her face, but sticks both hands out to catch herself. Emoria’s bedroom door is open and Yennefer is afraid of what she’ll see on the other side. She imagines the worst and her heart skips a beat. 

Standing in the doorway, Yennefer takes in the room and feels her legs give way at what she sees. An empty, neatly made bed. A cold, soot covered hearth. An open window with fluttering curtains. 

And no Emoria. 


	24. The Fox & Her Pups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same day but from Triss' perspective! Also sorry for all of this angst!

Triss stands in front of a tub filled with dishes, scrubbing them until they shine and twinkle in the sunlight. She hears Yennefer and Geralt behind her, her lover wishing Emoria a quiet goodbye in a final attempt to make the girl feel better. It doesn’t work, judging by the way Yennefer says bye to Triss with such a weary tone. She looks over her shoulder, regretting it immediately as she spots Yennefer and Geralt standing beside it each. 

Triss knows she’s attractive. And knows that she and Yennefer turn heads whenever they step out together. They must make for a striking couple, she with her brightly flamed hair and equally bright and cheery clothes, Yennefer with her muted color palette, dark hair and lilac eyes. But the witcher and the raven-haired sorceress always seemed to ‘fit’ together in a natural way. Geralt’s dark armor often complemented Yennefer’s attire and there was a clean and distinguished look about them as though they had just departed a ball or banquet. The redhead wondered if people thought such things when it was her by Yennefer’s side. It’s a silly thought and yet, she feels herself start to slip into despair the more she fixates on it. 

“Triss, you look well.”

“So do you Geralt.” She turns back to the dish in her hand, continuing with her task as she listens to Yennefer and Geralt leave. Once the door shuts, Triss grips the edge of the metal tub and takes a deep breath. She trusts Yennefer and knows that the sorceress wouldn’t abandon her new family. 

But the witcher is charming. It’s what first drew Triss to him. He rarely spoke out, but when he did he always said the right things. She remembers Novigrad and standing on the pier. The ship was to her back and Geralt was in front of her, making his final appeal for her to stay with him. 

_ “I love you.” _

He spoke those words with such conviction and gentleness, causing the breath to get caught in the back of Triss’ throat. And as she turned away from him on the pier, she knew almost immediately that she was going to stay with him. She stood by, taking much needed time to collect herself, before returning to him and his promise of a life together. Even in the watchtower overlooking the bay, Geralt said all the right things that made Triss believe she was finally being chosen. That she would no longer be set aside when a prettier woman crossed Geralt’s path.

It was all a lie, of course. Geralt tried his luck with both Triss and Yennefer, hoping to keep them far enough apart so they could never discover the truth. But they did discover the truth which led to their plan at the Kingfisher Inn and the kiss that both women melted into. Now that she thinks on it, Triss should thank Geralt for his indecisiveness. Had he committed to one of them, she and Yen would have never found their way into bed together or confessed their love. There would be no early morning play fights nor Emoria or Clarissa. And Triss would still falsely believe that she was an accessory to Ciri. 

So yes, maybe once Yennefer and Geralt return from their talk, Triss could pull him aside and thank him for leading her to the domestic life she never wants to leave. 

Triss catches the lingering scent of Yennefer’s signature perfume and smiles, while aching for the woman to return soon. While Ciri, Clarissa and Dandelion still lounge in the sitting room, Emoria has sequestered herself to the study and her desk. Triss expected the girl to withdraw slightly. She raps her hand against the wooden door, pulling Emoria’s attention away from the letter she’s writing. 

“Who is that for?” she asks. 

“Tissaia. I just started it.”

Triss notices several pieces of paper already on the floor. They’re all balled up and cast carelessly in the room as though the girl tossed them over her shoulder without second thought. Triss goes to the nearest one and stoops to pick it up. 

“Don’t!” She stops with her hand grazing the sheet, but looks at Emoria. “It’s terrible. Tissaia won’t like it.” 

Abandoning the discarded letter, Triss stands with a frown and places a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Hey. You alright?”

“I’m fine. Just...it needs to be perfect. I want it to be perfect.”

Triss leans against the wall facing Emoria and slides down. She holds out a hand and reluctantly, the girl takes it. “Tissaia will love it no matter what. You know that, right?” 

Emoria doesn’t answer at first. She looks down at her desk, pouting. There’s a pinkish tint to the whites in her eyes as though she had rubbed them. Triss wonders if she had been crying earlier and hopes that wasn’t the case. She shakes their joined hands forcing Emoria to look at her again. 

“Right?” she whispers again. 

And when Emoria shakes her head ‘yes,’ Triss knows she’s being given the answer she wants to hear. “Will you take a break? I know you just started, but maybe the letter will flow better if you give your mind a rest.”

Emoria doesn’t put up a fight as Triss pulls her from her chair and out into the hall. Dandelion is stretched across the sofa. Thankfully his boots sit on the floor near one of the sofa’s legs. Triss shudders at the thought of Yennefer returning and spotting mud stains on the upholstery. A small leather bound notebook is in one hand, while he taps a piece of graphite against his lips. Ciri sits in front of the heart with Clarissa pressed closed to her chest. When Triss and Emoria enter, Ciri’s green eyes light up, but just as quickly dim when she notices Emoria’s dejected mood. 

“So Triss, you visiting from Novigrad?” Dandelion asks this without looking away from his notebook. A jolt runs through him as he’s struck with a new line and quickly jots it down on the page. 

Triss takes one of the armchairs, letting Emoria climb into her lap and nestle against her. She hugs the girl close, hoping to help her relax. “Not quite Dandelion.” Emoria sits stiffly in her arms, as though she can’t find the right position. Triss keeps the embrace loose so the girl can move freely. And she twists her body once, curling into Triss with a heavy sigh. 

“Em, you okay?” Ciri asks. It’s the first Triss has heard Emoria be called by a nickname. Though judging by the ease by which Ciri used it, it’s certainly not the first time she’s said it. 

“I’m fine,” she whispers. “What are you doing?” This question is directed at Dandelion and it takes the bard a few seconds to realize. 

“Finishing a new ballad,” he says. “Since I’m on the road, I figured it would be good to give the people something new to listen to.” 

Emoria fixates on the movements of his hand across the page. “What are your songs about?”

Dandelion shoots up and gapes at her. “You’ve never heard  _ any  _ of my songs?” He slides back down, shrinking at the intensity of the glare he received from both Ciri and Triss. The redhead hates how Emoria tries to make herself smaller and she wishes Yennefer was here. She was always better at dealing with the bard. “Sorry I get a bit too excited sometimes. Just I work hard for my fame.” 

The feather attached to his hat lifts in the air as he exhales. “I write about my travels and my life on the road with and without Geralt. Ciri and Triss have a place in my work. And there are others from our circle who pop up here and there.”

Both women move to change the subject, but Emoria presses on with her questions forcing them to stay silent. Dandelion spouts nothing but self-gratifying platitudes as he goes on and on about his career as Geralt’s frequent companion. He soaks up the attention, adding flourishing details with his typical flare. Normally Triss loves Dandelion and his flamboyant nature. He was always kind to her and while he often landed Geralt in trouble because of his actions or need for attention, Dandelion meant well. 

But she’s not sure if Dandelion is being purposefully obtuse to the situation inside Yennefer’s home or if he’s genuinely oblivious. She can’t quite fault him for missing the obvious or failing to notice Emoria’s clearly distressed reactions as he rambles on. But Triss worries that his words are leaving a negative and lasting impression on Emoria. Every warning bell in her, screams at her to stop this now. The girl is pressed so tightly against Triss that it feels like her air may be cut off and she knows Emoria’s fingers will leave imprints in her skin. 

“Dandelion?” Triss calls. 

“Yes?”

“Let me show you the garden. I’m quite proud of it.”

“I haven’t seen it either,” Ciri says. “Emoria come show me what you helped with.”

But Emoria slides out of Triss’ lap and wraps her arms loosely around her midsection. “I actually don’t feel well,” she whispers. “Can I go lay down?”

Triss knows the girl is lying. It’s clear in the way that she won’t look at Triss or Ciri or anyone else in the room. She’s already taken several steps back out of arms’ reach. And the redhead is torn. It would be good for the girl to have some quiet time. It’s clearly how she likes to process some new stimulant in her environment. But Triss is afraid. She knows how easy it would be for Emoria’s thoughts to slip from quiet contemplation to all-consuming and suffocating anxiety. 

As if sensing Triss’ hesitation, Emoria looks at her with those soft brown eyes, silently pleading with the woman to let her make an escape. And it breaks Triss’ resolve. 

“I’ll tuck you in.” Triss feels a sense of relief as Emoria takes her hand and pulls her out the room. “Go on out there. I’ll join you in a minute,” she says to Dandelion and Ciri. 

As Emoria climbs on the bed, Triss flounces around the room opening the curtains to let more sunlight in. “Can you open a window too? I like the fresh air.” 

Triss slides one open and sits next to Emoria’s feet. She leans over and touches her shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

Emoria nods and stares ahead. 

“You’ll come find Ciri or I if you need anything, right?”

Again another nod. 

“Once you wake, we’ll start on that surprise for Yen.”

This time when Emoria nods, she curls her hands against her chest. Triss’ squeezes her shoulder and kisses the side of her head. “Don’t worry Emoria..” Triss sits with her until her eyes shut and her breathing evens out. Before leaving, the redhead presses the back of her hand to Emoria’s forehead and finds no fever. She smooths down her dark hair, letting her hand rest there for a moment before pulling it away. 

Triss can’t express how much she loves Emoria or Clarissa. She can never find the words to truly capture how willing she is to do whatever she must to keep them happy. When Granger first appeared at Yennefer’s stoop, cradling the sick Clarissa in her arms, Triss felt a need to help though it was no stronger than any of the countless other times she was called to act or assist someone in need. But the longer the girls were in the house, the more attached she grew to them and her heart ached on those rare occasions when they were apart. Everytime she and Yen spoke of their future together, Triss fantasized about all that they would do together. She thought of the many ‘firsts’ they would get to share. Clarissa’s first words and steps. The first crushes and possibly heartbreaks. (Triss is prepared to handle those given her ups and downs with love.) First trip taken together. And there are two ‘firsts’ that Triss is most excited for. The first ‘I love you’ that the girls direct towards Triss and Yen. And the first time Emoria and Clarissa refer to the sorceresses as their moms. 

Sometimes Triss thinks it will come from Clarissa before Emoria. The baby would likely have no lasting memory of her birth parents. Triss and Yennefer would be the only parents she ever knows, which is a bittersweet realization for the redhead. Emoria, as always, will be hesitant and Triss doesn’t begrudge the girl for her trepidation. 

Sighing and rubbing at the migraine that is being to form in the center of her forehead, Triss joins Ciri, Clarissa and Dandelion outside. Ciri and Clarissa squat in front of one of the flowering bushes and marvel at the brightly colored, soft petals. The witcher pulls away anytime the baby threatens to rip one of the flowers from its stem, which Triss is grateful for. 

She finds Dandelion sitting under the shade of a tree and she joins him. A sigh escapes her as she reclines against the smooth bark. 

“Tired dear Triss?”

“Exhausted. In a good way.”

Dandelion wiggles his brows and smirks. “Do tell.”

“I’m not giving you any more fodder.” She shuts her eyes and turns so patches of sunlight can warm her face. “Besides, you said you’re nearly done with a ballad.”

“There’s always more waiting to be written.” Like nearly everything else about him, Dandelion’s sigh is done with too much flair and Triss starts to chuckle. “Well at least tell me what schemes you and Yennefer are currently concocting?” 

“None,” Triss says. 

“Truly? You have no grand plans for those two girls? No foundation is being built to overthrow the current monarch? Or ways to usher in a new age of sorcery?”

They had plans for Emoria and Clarissa. Simple ones like educating them in preparation for this world. And securing a larger home somewhere in the countryside. The sorceresses plan to meet the girls every needs and wants. But other than that...

“Our days of scheming are behind us. Yen and I just want a quiet life. Together.” 

“Together?” Dandelion scrunches his brows together and cocks his head to the side as he studies her. If Triss wasn’t experiencing a maelstrom of conflicting emotions right now, she’d find it cute. 

Taking a deep breath, Triss nods. “Yes, together. We’ve become lovers.”

The first response is a sniffle and a swirl of curiosity in his eyes. He raises an eyebrow and stares off. Triss can feel him working to slot the pieces together. She sees the exact moment it clicks and he turns back to her with a wide grin and a chuckle weaseling its way out. 

“Oh Triss I never knew you could be so hilarious. For a second you almost had me convinced…”

“That Yennefer and I are truly together.” As she says this, she sweeps her hair behind her shoulder revealing a healing lovemark that she usually covers with magic or a bit of makeup. It’s turned a light shade of purple that reminds Triss over her lover’s eyes in the sunlight. 

“Triss?” 

She shakes her head and her red hair covers the bruise once more. “Yes?”

“You’re not joking?”

“No, I’m not.”

Dandelion’s mouth hangs open. “D-does Geralt know?”

“I imagine Yen is telling him now.” 

From the corner of her eye, she sees Ciri stiffen and twist towards a bush near the corner of the house. The young witcher stares into the shrubbery. A brown rabbit skitters from under the leaves, stops to stare at them with glossy black eyes before leaping into another small bush. 

“Ciri, careful of Clarissa,” Triss warns. The baby has nearly latched onto a thorny rose stem, but the witcher leans back on her heels. 

“Sneaky. Sneaky. But I caught you.” Clarissa giggles and squeals as Ciri raises her in the air. There’s some more rustling in the bush, but Triss dismisses it as other rabbits at play and turns back to the bard. 

“Congrats?” Dandelion offers. 

The news would settle with him later in the day or possibly tomorrow. For now, Triss would accept this tentative offer of goodwill and cheer. “Thanks. And if it’s not already clear, the girls are our…” Now it’s Triss' turn to stray off as she searches for the right word. Though it rings clearly in her heart and warms her entire being. “They’re our daughters.” 

“Truly?” 

Ciri balances Clarissa on her shoulder and skips over to the others. She collapses on her back and chuckles as Clarissa begins to crawl on her. She holds the baby with a firm hand so there’s no danger in her falling and hurting herself as she climbs on Ciri. 

“Are you okay with all of this?” There’s no malice to Dandelion’s question and yet Triss recoils ever so slightly. 

“I love it!” Ciri says. “I always wanted siblings.”

Dandelion wipes at the sweat on his forehead. “Well then I’m happy for you all. I’ll drink to your continued joy and will work to get Geralt absolutely drunk tonight. He’ll probably need it.”

Triss did feel guilty. She knows the witcher came in the hopes of convincing Yennefer to rekindle what they once had. He had no way to prepare for what awaited him inside the home. But Triss knows the witcher well and knows that once the initial shock disappeared, Geralt would find a way to plant himself in their lives without overstepping any boundaries or disrespecting Yennefer and Triss’ relationship. He is many things and considerate is one of the shining features of his personality. 

Sitting in the sun had made the small party thirsty. Triss volunteers to go inside to fix drinks for them all. Before heading into the kitchen, she climbs the stairs intending to check on Emoria. She isn’t sure how long Geralt and Yennefer would be gone, but it would be best to start on the raven-haired woman’s surprise soon. 

“Emoria? You feel any…”

But the bed is empty. Triss steps further inside and checks the corner of the room, but the girl is nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, she checks the other rooms on this level, starting with the main bedroom and Ciri’s. Her search turns up empty. 

She feels her stomach lurch towards the floor, but she takes a calming breath. Yennefer’s home is large and there are places for the girl to hide if she truly wished to. Hurrying down the stairs, she peeks into the kitchen. 

Empty. 

Then the study. 

Also empty. 

The sitting room is undisturbed and the fire threatens to die. Her cornflower blue eyes land on every piece of furniture in the room.

And still there’s no Emoria. 

Hugging herself and suddenly chilly, she walks outside. 

“Have you all seen Emoria?” she asks, trying to maintain a steady voice. 

“Not since she took her nap,” Ciri says. Dandelion shakes his head too. 

Triss turns back to the house, staring at it as though it will spit up her daughter at her command. “She’s not in her room and I’ve checked nearly every other area of the house.”

This catches Ciri’s attention and she sits up, still holding Clarissa close to her chest. “Did you check the cellar?” Triss shakes her hand, drawing a blank as to why Emoria would venture there. “I’ll go down there. Why don’t you look upstairs again?”

“I’ll investigate the main level,” Dandelion volunteers. 

“She’ll turn up. I’m sure of it.” Ciri gives the redhead a comforting smile and Triss contorts her mouth in an effort to smile. 

They split off to their selected parts of the home. Triss starts from the furthest end of the top level and works her way to the main bedroom. She checks under the beds and in the closets. She moves pieces of furniture, hoping to see Emoria crouching behind an armchair or side table. 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. 

Triss begins to panic. She tells herself to be rational. To stopper her emotions until Emoria turns up. But with each empty room, she feels herself inching closer to hysteria. She shouts the girl’s name. 

No response. 

She tosses clothes on the floor, clearinging the closets but only sees empty shadows. She uses magic to clean the mess, but her spellwork is shoddy and the garments are haphazardly folded and skewed in their right places. 

Ciri and Dandelion call for Emoria too, but like Triss their cries go unanswered. She leans against the wall, placing a hand over her chest and feels her heart  _ thumping  _ hard. 

Back in Emoria’s room, Triss runs her hands over the bed. It’s cool to the touch. “Fuck!” She throws the closet doors open. All of the girl’s clothes are there. She touches each piece of clothing just to be sure and her hand clutches at air at where her cloak should be. The cloak Yennefer purchased for her weeks ago. The one she dons whenever they leave the house. 

Triss feels something crawling up her throat. Rushing back downstairs, she sees the front door open and runs towards it, trying to recall if it was open before they began their search. Triss thinks it was shut. Now she can’t quite recall. 

“Triss did you find her?” She spins. Dandelion’s face shines from his sweat and his hat sits lopsided on his head. There’s patches of soot on his once pristine attire. Triss’ anxiety riddled mind struggles to work out if he actually searched the hearth. 

“No. Was this door open earlier?”

Dandelion shakes his head. “Ciri went out to investigate around the house.”

“The cellar was empty?”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“What about down here?” She tells herself Emoria has to be in the house. She has to be here!

“Nothing so far.”

She hears footsteps behind her and whirls around. Ciri, still clutching onto Clarissa, takes one look at Triss and makes the snap decision to be the brave one. She touches the redhead’s shoulder. “I’m going to search around town.” 

“She’s not outside?” The small rational part of Triss’ mind tells her of course not, otherwise Ciri wouldn’t need to search away from the house. But she feels that rationality be snuffed out as the young witcher sighs and shakes her head. “Ciri…” 

Sensing the heavy energy in the hallway, Clarissa begins to fidget and cry out in Ciri’s arms. The witcher rubs the baby’s back and shushes her. “Triss, we will find her, okay? Mom and Geralt should return soon. Stay here and explain to them what happened. Maybe Emoria will work her way back here. Dandelion go and alert some guards. We have the money to pay them. I’ll take Clarissa with me…”

“Ciri…”

“Trust me Triss. I won’t lose her. I’ll take her with me and we’ll search all around for Emoria.” Her hand slides down and holds Triss’. She guides the redhead into the kitchen, setting her on a stool that faces one of the windows. Triss loses sense of time and is vaguely aware of what’s occurring around her. A cup of warm tea is placed in front of her. Dandelion leaves, with a heavy purse strapped to his side. Ciri says something to Triss, but she doesn’t hear. The young witcher brings their foreheads together, but it does little to comfort her. 

“We’ll come back soon. I promise.” 

The door shuts again and Triss is plagued by the silence. Her hands tremble, spilling tea over the counter. She abandons the mug and places her head in her hands. She sobs, though no tears come. Triss thinks to search the house again. Maybe they missed a spot. Maybe in their frantic, harried state they overlooked the one spot Emoria tucked herself away in. 

But she can’t muster up the energy to go looking. She doesn’t want to taste the bitter sting of disappointment. 

So she sits. And waits. Her mind takes her to dark places and she shakes her head violently to dispel those images. But the ‘what ifs…’ start without her permission.

What if Emoria never returned?

_ No! Emoria loved it here! She said she never wanted to leave. _

What if she was hurt?

S _ top it. She’s fine. She’ll come back fine. She has to... _

What if someone attacked her?

_ I will kill them. I will flay them alive. I’ll rain fire down on them. I’ll draw up every ounce of magic I can hold and cast it in their direction, inflicting terrible pains.  _

What if she hated Yennefer and Triss?

_ She doesn’t. She loves us like we love her. _

What if…

What if…

_ Stop it. Please. _

There’s movement outside. Triss moves closer to the window to see and for the first time since this began, she feels a bit of relief. Yennefer! Thank the gods! Yennefer and Geralt approach the house. The witcher stiffens and mutters something. He must sense Triss’ distress. Yennefer frowns at him and starts to race towards the house. Triss pulls away from the window to meet her lover at the door. 

She collapses into Yennefer’s arms as soon as the door is open. Her senses are still dull, still too narrow to take in anything outside of her and the person directly in front of her. Through her tears, she tries to tell Yennefer all that happens but she can’t bring herself to speak the entire truth out loud. 

She’s guided back into the kitchen, into a wooden seat. Yennefer kneels before her as she connects their hands. Her voice is gentle as she tries to pry more answers from Triss. 

“I picked up her scent.” Through blurry vision, Triss sees the dark figure in the kitchen’s doorway. “I’ll find her.” 

These words send a shiver down Yennefer’s spine and she whips back to Triss. 

“I’m so sorry Yen. I went to check on her after an hour but...she…” The redhead can’t bring herself to say it. Her lover’s warmth is gone and she feels Geralt scoop her in his arms before she can collapse onto the floor. She hears Yennefer’s steps pounding on the stairs and the landing overhead. 

It’s then that Triss finds the energy to speak the words that make her stomach twist and flip on itself. 

“She ran away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed these two chapters! I'm really happy with them, especially with the ending of this chapter. (I mean I don't like that Emoria ran away, but I like how I captured that frantic search.) 
> 
> I'm working super hard to get the next chapter to you all so you don't have to worry too much haha. Hope to have it out by Sunday or Monday! 
> 
> Let me know what you think! Stay safe! Sending you all so much love and good vibes! See you soon! xoxo


	25. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to post this last week, but I couldn't. I'm here now and I hope you all enjoy it!

Yennefer hates that Triss is trembling in her arms. She hates that her embrace provides no comfort for her lover. She hates that the sky is quickly darkening as it goes from dusk to night. She hates that there have been no updates since Geralt and the other went out to find Emoria. 

Most of all, Yennefer hates that she didn’t better anticipate this. 

“I’m sorry Yenna.”

“Triss, please don’t apologize. My heart can’t take it.”

The redhead’s exhale is heavy and wet, too phlegmy from the hours that she spent crying. Triss cried enough for the both of them, though Yennefer still had tears of her own to shed. 

“I messed up. I said we wouldn’t mess this up, but I did. And now Emoria…” Triss breaks off with a sob, curling into herself on their bed. 

“Please don’t do this,” Yennefer whispers into her lover’s back. “ _ Please. _ We can’t blame ourselves.” Though the raven-haired woman wanted to carry this heavy guilt for the both of them. It was her past with Geralt that worried Emoria. She can picture the girl laying in bed, creating scenarios, each one worse than the other, with all of those imagined situations ending with her and her sister back in Granger’s care. It must have been suffocating and stifling. She can see Emoria taking her cloak, one of her most prized possessions, the thing that reminded her of Yennefer and clasping it under her chin. Emoria climbing out the window, using the vines and rickety trellis to climb down and slip into the city. 

Where is she now? Yennefer tries not to think about it. She loves this city, but gods it can be unforgiving sometimes. Especially at night. 

She shakes her head, banishing the thoughts from her mind before it can fully form. Emoria is safe. She may be emotionally hurting. But dammit the girl is away from anything that may physically harm her. Yennefer would tear this city apart if she returns with even the tiniest scratch. 

Her stomach grumbles, as does Triss. But Yennefer thinks whatever food she eats will only come back up. And she has no energy to cook anyway. Before Geralt left to join the search, he helped carry Triss up the stairs and into their bedroom. What little energy Yennefer had left went to kicking off her boots before wrapping herself around her lover’s tightly curled body. They lay like that for hours, waiting for someone to return with news. 

But the front door remained shut in the hours they spent in bed. 

Yennefer loosens her hold as she feels Triss wiggle in her arms. The redhead flops over onto her other side, tucking herself under the raven-haired woman’s chin. The long exhale against Yennefer’s neck tickles, but the only sign of discomfort is a slight fidgeting that quickly dies down. She twists her head, hoping to catch Triss’ gaze. But the hollowness in her lover’s cornflower blue eyes worries her. 

“I’m going to go make you some tea,” she whispers, pressing her lips against Triss’ hair. 

Triss whimpers and holds Yennefer tighter around the waist. 

“I won’t be long. I promise.” 

Slowly, the redhead releases the raven-haired woman allowing her to sit on the edge of the bed with a bowed head. Yennefer feels her own tears start up, but she tells herself to keep it together until she can return with Triss’ drink. Reaching blindly behind her, she finds Triss’ hand and squeezes. 

“We didn’t mess this up,” she whispers. 

Triss says nothing, but squeezes Yennefer’s hand back. 

In the hallway, the raven-haired woman does her best to pass by Emoria’s room without peering inside. She knows the scene will be unchanged since she returned to discover the girl gone. But she hopes maybe she’ll wake from this nightmare if she takes just a quick peek. 

The bed is still untouched and Yennefer backs away slowly, careful of making any noise and disturbing Triss. 

Yennefer decides against using magic to bring the water to a boil, opting instead to place the kettle over a flame, though she keeps an ear out for any sounds from her bedroom. Her body is stiff and heavy from the hours spent in one position. While the redhead cried and drowned their bed with her tears, Yennefer would lay in a daze, trying to keep her worst fears quiet. They both spoke of Emoria’s return as an inevitability, but as time went on, it felt like their words were empty spells with no power to fuel them. 

But she still believed Emoria would come back. She clings to the hope that she’ll get to embrace the girl once more. If she abandons that hope, Yennefer knows she will fall apart. 

The kettle whistles from the rack over the fire and she uses a levitation spell to keep from potentially scalding her hands. She sprinkles tea leaves and dried mint into two mugs and lets it steep for a few minutes before adding honey to Triss’ mug. 

In the darkened hallway, she hears sniffling and thinks that somehow her lover slipped from the top landing to the main floor without alerting her. The floor groans as she investigates, finding both the study and the sitting room cold and empty. There’s a flicker of soft light that catches her attention and she frowns to herself as she notices the backdoor is ajar. Nudging it open with her foot, Yennefer steps into the garden, searching for Triss. She spots a huddled figure seated on the pillows under the large tree and freezes. 

Emoria’s face is pressed against her knees and her shoulders shake. A flame flickers inside a glass lantern at her feet, lighting a small area around her. It’s hard to be sure from this distance, but the girl is unharmed and relatively clean. Yennefer slips back into the shadows, sucking back her exhale of relief to keep from spooking Emoria and causing her to run away again. Keeping her eyes on the girl, Yennefer kneels and sets the tea on the floor, before reaching out telepathically to Triss. 

_ Triss come downstairs, slowly. _

_ What is it? Is everything okay? _

Even through the connection, she can feel the thick sadness that weighs on her lover.

_ Emoria’s in the garden. But I don’t want to scare her off. I’ll wait for you before approaching.  _

The connection ends and she listens as Triss rushes out the bedroom. Once she reaches the main level, her steps are quiet and measured. Soon, Yennefer feels Triss’ breath at her back. 

“Ready?” she whispers. Their palms meet, both equally sweaty from fear. Triss nods. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they press forward together and emerge from the shadows. 

“Emoria?” Triss calls. 

The girl freezes and looks up with red, puffy eyes that are wide with fear and surprise. She doesn’t move to wipe her tears. Instead, she hugs herself tighter when she sees Triss and Yennefer. 

“The house was quiet,” she whispers. “I thought no one was here.”

It takes great control not to wrap the girl up in her arms and beg her never to leave again. But Yennefer knows that would be a mistake. Emoria would flinch against such bold actions and whatever progress they’ve made since her initial arrival in the home would be forever lost. As much as she wants to gloss over the past few hours, sweep it under the rug and be done with it all, Yennefer knows that they have to dig to the root of Emoria’s problems.

“We’ve been here the entire time,” Triss says softly. She inches forward, but again Emoria closes herself off to any touch. “May we join you?”

After a long second, Emoria nods and leans against the tree as Yennefer and Triss settle on several pillows directly across from the girl. They sit in an uncomfortable silence. The two women look at each other, silently pleading for the other to take the lead. This was always Triss’ domain. Yennefer has gotten better with comforting people and showing a vulnerable side. But she is still hesitant to reveal her emotions. And she’s drained from her talk with Geralt. It feels like she’s scraping the bottom of a well that’s dried out ages ago. 

But they can’t sit in silence for the rest of the night. Eventually she settles on an easy question.

“Are you injured?”

Emoria shakes her head and presses her forehead against her knees, hiding her face once more. 

“Are you hungry? Or thirsty? Can we get you anything?” Triss asks. 

Again, the girl shakes her head and sniffles. It falls silent once more and Yennefer chides herself for asking such a simple question. She had practiced this earlier. As she laid in bed with Triss crying in her arms, Yennefer ran through all the potential ways this conversation could play out. She imagined endless crying, tight embraces and promises to always be open and honest with each other. She thought Emoria would rush into their arms, swearing to never abandon them. A small part of her thought it would be easy. Once she convinced Emoria that Geralt would remain a friend, everything would return to normal. 

But Yennefer realizes that this will be hard. 

“Please don’t be kind to me,” Emoria whispers. “It hurts.”

Both women sit straight once they hear this. Emoria still doesn’t look at them. Her knuckles press against her skin from how tightly she holds her legs. 

“W-we’re hurting you?” Triss asks. 

“Your kindness.” She wipes at her eyes, drawing in a harsh, shuddering breath. “It hurts because I know it will end soon.”

“W-why would it end?” Triss leans forward, placing all her weight on the hand in front of her. Her cornflower blue eyes reveal pain and confusion in equal measure. Yennefer wishes she could find some words,  _ any  _ words to offer Emoria. But she’s too stunned to think beyond the idea that she and Triss hurt the girl. 

“Because Geralt’s back!”

Ah! There it is. Yennefer anticipated he would come up soon. 

“It’s like in the books and songs,” Emoria whispers, pressing on. She looks directly into Yennefer’s eyes. “You two are destined for each other. You’ll always find your way back. You’ ll fall in love again and leave us.”

Yennefer blindly reaches over for Triss’ hand. The redhead tightens her hold immediately and the raven-haired sorceress is relieved she doesn’t have to fight this battle on two fronts. 

“You’ll go back to your family. Your  _ real  _ family,” the girl says. “And Lady Triss will leave too. I’ll be forgotten again. Mother and Father were supposed to come back for us. But they didn’t. They won’t. They don’t want us anymore. And now, you have no reason to keep us around either.”

For the first time ever, Yennefer realizes just how deep these girls have burrowed themselves into her heart. She feels Emoria’s pain. Can understand where it is coming from. To be forgotten and abandoned by those you love is a cruel fate and yet, in her youth, it was one of Yennefer’s greatest fears. For years she worked hard to keep people at a distance, to never allow them to get too close because all she knew was abandonment, heartbreak and grief. 

Solitude was her comfort zone. It was far easier to isolate herself than deal with the needly pain that came with getting close to others. After battling the Wild Hunt and wrestling with Geralt’s infidelity, Yennefer portalled away to Vengerberg and locked herself away, telling herself she could finally savour the peace she truly wanted. But in truth, she was hiding from immeasurable pain. 

It was all she ever knew. 

Pain from her own parents abandoning her for a cheap price. Pain from still being labelled as an ‘other’ amongst so many girls who had also been cast aside. Physical pain from changing into a woman that society deemed beautiful. Pain from loving Geralt and being betrayed by him. Pain from losing her daughter over and over and over again. 

Now there was the pain of watching Emoria, her new daughter, crumble and collapse into herself as she faced one of her greatest fears. 

Through her sobs, Emoria says, “I just want to be your daughter. I want to be good enough to be your daughter.”

Fuck solitude, Yennefer thinks. She rises and does what she wished someone did to her before she locked herself away in Vengerberg. She draws the girl into her arms, holding her tight as Emoria stiffens for a second before immediately melting into the embrace. The woman threads her hand through the girl’s hair, gently scratching at the scalp. Emporia hiccups and begins crying again.

“Sh, sweet girl. You are my daughter.” She looks up, smiling as Triss comes to sit next to her. “You are  _ our  _ daughter.”

She adores this girl. And the woman who now leans into her. She adores every little moment they’ve shared since the snowstorm all those months ago. Those soft, quiet moments when the girl cuddles close to them, listening with rapt attention as Yennefer or Triss read a story aloud. Or when Emoria’s eyes light up as Triss pulls a batch of muffins from the oven. Yennefer loves watching the girl as she sits quietly and still with Clarissa in her arms, holding her sister close to her chest and lulling the baby to sleep with the sound of her beating heart. 

“You are my family,” she whispers into Emoria’s hair. “You’re as much a part of my family as Ciri is and forever will be.”

Emoria finally releases her legs and casts her arms around Yennefer’s shoulder and hip. She stretches across the two sorceresses and turns to cry into the raven-haired woman’s chest. “I don’t want to lose you or Lady Triss.”

“You won’t Emoria,” Triss says. “We’ll be here for you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Though she continues to relax ever so slightly in Yennefer’s arms, tucking her head under the woman’s chin. 

“I’ve always favored actions over words and I know you’re like me in that regard,” Yennefer says. “Stay here with us and I swear we will work hard every day to make you feel loved and cared for.” 

“You still want me?” the girl whispers. 

Triss cups Emoria’s face. “Yes, we will always want you. We will always choose you.”

“But I’ll never be…”

Yennefer cuts her off. “You will become who you’re meant to be and we will love, cherish and support you every step of the way. But most importantly, you are and will always be our daughter. Our precious, sweet, wonderful daughter.”

Emoria is quiet for a long moment. Yennefer holds the girl in a tight embrace and Triss moves closer, pressing herself against her lover. The raven-haired sorceress knows they’ve reached the girl, that they’ve convinced her to stop running. Emoria has relaxed in their arms, though breathes heavily through her mouth, fighting back another round of tears. 

“The greatest thing I ever did,” Yennefer whispers, “was to open my heart back up to Triss after experiencing a deep pain. I know how hard this is. But I promise it will all be worth it if you allow yourself to get closer to others.”

Emoria hands clench behind Yennefer’s back as she no longer holds back her tears. “I’m sorry,” she says, repeating it over and over as she trembles and sobs. “I’m sorry I’m such a pain. I’m sorry you and Lady Triss worry over me all the time. I’m sorry I’ve been annoying since the beginning.”

But the sorceresses just smile and shake their heads. “Don’t apologize,” Triss says. 

“You make our home lively. It’s what makes you so special.” 

This makes Emoria cry harder as she releases everything she’s kept within for so long. And the sorceresses keep her in strong embraces, letting their daughter cry and fall apart. They will be here when she’s able to talk again. After her tears dry and her sniffling ends, they will stay by her side. Through the nightmares and the bouts of self-loathing and anxiety, they will soothe her and promise a better tomorrow. 

As Triss said, they will always choose Emoria. 

* * *

Yennefer’s unsure how much time has passed. Maybe thirty minutes. Possibly an hour. Her back is stiff from leaning against the tree. Her arms are asleep from holding Emoria for so long and her shoulder is heavy from Triss’ head propped against it. The redhead and their daughter are both asleep, the exhaustion from the day catching up to them all and forcing them to finally rest. Yennefer feels herself nodding off, but doesn’t want to sleep just yet. 

“...gave them all I had and still they were slow to join the search.”

Dandelion’s voice carries down the hall and outside into the garden. She hears a gruff, short response from Geralt. Ciri is the first in the group to make it out the back door. The young witcher holds Clarissa tight in her arms, almost mimicking the grip Yennefer has on Emoria. 

“She’s back,” Ciri whispers. With her free hand, she quickly wipes at her eyes. But even from this distance, Yennefer can see that she has been crying. 

The sorceress watches as her oldest daughter kneels in front of her and carefully tucks a lock of hair behind Emoria’s ear. She wonders why she never considered giving Ciri siblings before. 

It doesn’t matter now. They’re all here. Together. As they should be.

“I’m sorry. Triss and I failed to cook anything for dinner. Please tell me you and Clarissa found something to eat?”

Ciri nods, still examining Emoria as though the girl will evaporate before her eyes. “It was a small, but satisfactory meal.” 

“Good.”

Geralt and Dandelion linger by the door, waiting for a sign from Yennefer that it was okay to approach. They both look exhausted and a harsh wind blow away from toppling over and falling asleep themselves. She suggests they all turn in for the night. Not wanting to wake Triss or Emoria, Yennefer beckons Geralt over. 

“Can you help me? I’d like to get them into bed,” she says. 

He tucks his arms under the back of Triss’ knees and around her shoulders and lifts her. Ciri offers to take Emoria, who she could carry with ease, even with Clarissa already in her arms. But Yennefer shakes her head and prepares to stand. 

“Let me help.” Dandelion is by her side before she can blink, gripping her elbow tightly to support her weight. She checks to make sure Emoria is secure in her arms before pushing up onto achy legs. In her sleep, the girl frowns and moves to hug Yennefer around the neck. But thankfully she doesn’t fully waken. 

Emoria is far too old to be carried like this. But Yennefer burns this moment in her heart and mind. A part of her regrets she’ll never know what it was like to carry and cradle a baby Emoria in her arms. But this still feels special. 

Yennefer decides to let Triss and Emoria sleep in the clothes they’re wearing. She doesn’t want to wrestle them into something more fitting for bed. She does remove Emoria’s cloak and the girl’s face twists in frustration before just as quickly smoothing back out. Once they’re both settled for the night, she ushers Geralt and Dandelion out in the hall. 

“It’s late,” she whispers. “I know you’ve paid for a room and a meal for the evening. But it may be better if you spend the night here.” 

It’s a ridiculous offer to make with Geralt being a witcher capable of handling anyone or thing that dared cross him. But, small as it may be, there is space for the witcher and the bard in her home. At least for the night. 

“Take my room,” Ciri says as she rejoins them. She’s dressed in the right clothing for bed and Yennefer is relieved that Clarissa is also in a cotton nightgown. “Dandelion, I’m sure you’ll want a proper bed.” 

The bard grins and claps her on the shoulder. “I’ll gladly take such an offer. Thank you Ciri.” He runs his hand through his dark brown hair. Yennefer has never seen him weary, barely standing upright. “I’m sure we’ll all sleep in late. Until then, good night.”

He moves slowly down the hall, his shoulders rounded close to his ears and Yennefer notices wrinkles in his outfit. She feels something warm and intense swell within her heart as she realizes Dandelion worked hard to find Emoria. The bard was often concerned for himself, but his moments of selflessness always endured him to Yennefer. 

After the bedroom door shuts, Ciri, Yennefer, and Geralt stand in the dimly lit hallway. Clarissa, unsurprisingly, slept through everything and the sorceress leans over to sweep her hand down the baby’s head. The gesture earns her a soft coo which brings a smile to Yennefer’s face. 

“Emoria’s room is free,” she whispers, directing it towards Geralt. 

He shifts on his feet. “I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“You’re not. I promise. Take the room and get some rest.” Her voice leaves no room for argument and they both smile, remembering the many times she used such a tone to persuade him to follow her way. 

“Fine.”

Ciri wishes Geralt a good night and slips into the room with Triss and Emoria. Yennefer and Geralt hover in the hallway for a second longer. The sorceress can feel the awkwardness radiating from the witcher. 

“Geralt, thank you for going out there and looking for Emoria.”

“She’s a slippery one. I followed her trail for hours. I’m glad she made it back safely.”

“Me too.”

Yennefer begins to walk to her room, but pauses. “You’re a gracious man, Geralt,” she says without prompting. She remembers how quickly he acted when it was clear something was wrong in the house and how he joined the search for Emoria without needing to be asked. Of all the people she shared a bed with, Geralt was certainly one of the more honorable individuals, despite how society viewed witchers. Though he was prone to bouts of jealousy, he still cared deeply for Yennefer and did all that he could to make her happy. Within reason. 

He presses his lips together and nods. She can tell by the bob of his Adam’s apple that he swallowed whatever words first popped into his mind. He is careful with his emotions, despite their conversation from earlier in the day. Yennefer knows she is partially to blame and hopes that one day he can fully trust her with his emotions. She smiles, certain that it will happen in the future. 

“You should visit more often,” she says. “Ciri will love it and I know in time Emoria and Clarissa will look forward to your visits as well.”

“I’ll certainly come round as often as I can.”

“Good. I’m glad. Well, good night.”

“Night Yen.” 

Triss and Emoria cuddle in the middle of the large bed, while Ciri sleeps on her side with her back pressed against the redhead. The hardwood floor is a pleasant and cool surprise against the pads of her feet. Light from the full moon glows white inside the room and the sorceress uses it to peek inside Clarissa’s crib to kiss the girl good night. She does the same to Ciri before sliding in behind Emoria with a sigh. Her eyes shut and she reaches across Emoria to lay a gentle hand of Triss’ hip. 

“Lady Yennefer?” The girl’s voice is soft and groggy. 

The sorceress cracks open an eye. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispers. “Go back to sleep.

But Emoria ignores her and presses on. “I love you. And Lady Triss too.”

Yennefer gasps, her open eye widening. Emoria rolls over to face her, squinting as she fights off sleep for a moment longer. Her daughter leans forward, bringing their foreheads together. 

“We love you too,” Yennefer whispers, her voice betraying the composure she tries to maintain. “We love you so dearly.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments on my last chapter! I didn't get to respond, but I read and love them! I hope this new chapter made you feel warm and fuzzy inside and that it makes up for the angst from the last two updates. 
> 
> Continue to take care! Stay safe! Wear your masks, wash your hands and keep your distance from others if/when you go out! 
> 
> Hope to have a new chapter up soon! :)


	26. Tying Loose Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the penultimate chapter!! ><

Emoria’s arms hang loosely around Yennefer’s midsection in a hug that lost its strength as the night went on. She’s pressed close to the raven-haired sorceress and her mouth hangs open as she snores softly. Yennefer’s face is serene and glows from the sunlight. One hand cups the small of Triss’s back, fingers splayed out across the curve of her lower spine. The other hand holds the back of Emoria’s head. It’s an awkward position, one that likely robs the sorceress of any feeling in her arms. Though she utters no complaints in her sleep.

This is the first thing Triss sees when she wakes. 

She feels Ciri’s back against hers and twists her neck, her smile deepening when she spots Ciri’s arm extended towards the crib next to the bed. 

Triss is stuck in the middle, but doesn’t mind lying here with her family. 

_ Her  _ family. 

Gods, she never imagined it would all turn out like this. 

The night of the snowstorm, she momentarily considered finding a spot in the surrounding forest and conjuring a small cottage to use until the storm passed. The magical output would have likely grabbed Yennefer’s attention, though there’s no guarantee the raven-haired woman would come to investigate the source. But she had little energy to cast a spell to keep her warm, let alone create an entire lodge for her to use. There was a tight, almost painful, churning in her stomach as she stood on Yennefer’s stoop waiting for the woman to answer her door. To this day, she’s not sure how she avoided vomiting from how nervous she was. 

In the end, it had all worked out. But Triss remembers how fast her heart beat in her chest as she leaned closer to kiss Yennefer. She remembers waking up alone the next day, certain the raven-haired woman would toss her out onto the streets for daring to overstep the boundaries of their friendship. Triss was certain Yennefer could never love her or see her as anything other than a friend.

Yet, here they are in bed with the three girls under their care. 

Yennefer’s fingers run along her spine and Triss leans back, melting into the touch. The raven-haired woman’s exhale stretches into a soft hum. When she speaks, it’s in a whisper that is hoarse and dry. “So many thoughts so early in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Triss says, matching her soft voice and tone. “I didn’t realize I was projecting.”

She can’t pinpoint when it occurred, but their minds were always linked, giving them glimpses of the other’s thoughts. The connection was rarely live or active. To Triss it sounded like soothing, ambient noise in the back of her mind. But it was easy enough for them to tune in and read their passing thoughts. 

“Don’t apologize. They’re pleasant.” Yennefer opens her eyes and smiles. 

Triss was always distantly in love with her friend. The initial attraction was purely physical. When they first met in the halls of Aretuza, Yennefer had already undergone the glamour process, while Triss was still common. When they studied together, the redhead was distracted as she traced the curves of Yennefer’s lips with her eyes. She was always caught in a daze, but the older sorceress would tease her about the ‘village boy’ who caught her attention. Triss would agree, out of a burning need to keep her secret safe. And after undergoing the same, painful process to become beautiful, Triss never thought she would be worthy of the love and comfort found in Yennefer’s embrace. 

“Glad I proved you wrong.” Yennefer’s voice, now with a teasing hint, punctuates her thoughts once more. Blushing, Triss thinks to turn away to hide her embarrassment. But doesn’t. She and Yennefer are partners now. There’s no more need to shy away from how she truly feels. The raven-haired woman glides her hand up Triss’s waist, following the curve to her shoulder and neck. She snakes her hand behind the redhead’s neck, scratching at her scalp before threading slim fingers through thick, silky strands. “Come here.”

Triss smiles as her eyes flick down towards Yennefer’s full lips, before looking up into those brilliant lilac irises. They inch forward, intending to kiss and greet each other properly. But a small, strained protesting noise sounds comes from Emoria who pushes back against the raven-haired woman. 

“Apologies sweet girl,” Yennefer says. “I thought there was more room.”

Instead of answering immediately, Emoria snuggles deeper into Yennefer’s shoulder and strengthens her grip on the woman’s waist. “Can we sleep for a few more hours?” 

“Maybe not hours,” Triss whispers with a chuckle. “I’m guessing it’s close to mid-morning already. But how about a few more minutes?”

“Perfect.” Emoria sighs and drifts back off to sleep. Yennefer runs a hand down the girl’s hair and sinks deeper into her pillows. She glances across at her lover, she smiles and mouths ‘See you in a few minutes.’ 

The next time Triss wakes, it’s to the soft ruffling of clothes slipping onto a body. Cracking open an eye, she spots Yennefer in the corner dressing out of her pajamas and into loose fitting clothes to wear out the room. Emoria is still asleep, this time turned towards Triss to steal some extra warmth. Yennefer pivots slowly on her heel and pauses midway through lacing her trousers when she spots the redhead looking at her. 

“Good morning. Again.” In three steps, she’s standing next to the edge of the bed and leans over to properly kiss Triss on the lips. “I was going to start breakfast. But I believe Geralt beat me to it.”

Now that she’s growing more alert, Triss catches the hint of bacon and eggs that trails inside the room. “Can he cook?” 

Yennefer tips her head to the side and glances up as she thinks. “He can. And I taught him a few recipes in the time we lived together. As long as Dandelion steers clear of the kitchen, I think we’ll be okay.” She presses her lips to Triss’ forehead and leaves to go check on how Geralt is faring in the kitchen. The redhead lingers in bed for a minute longer, before gingerly extracting herself from Emoria’s grasp and climbs over the girl. She shivers as the morning chill that seeped into the wooden floorboards and changes out of her pajamas. Her back is towards the bed, but she recognizes the telltale signs of the girls slowly waking. 

Something small and warm knocks against her and tiny arms hug her around the waist. “I’m sorry again.” 

Triss places a hand on Emoria’s arm, gently lifting them from around her. She lowers down onto her knees and cups the girl’s face. Brown eyes look everywhere but Triss’ face, but the redhead smiles and swipes her thumb to catch the tears that threaten to tip over and fall. 

“It’s behind us now,” she whispers. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters.” 

Emoria’s bottom lip trembles, the muscles in her jaw tightening as she works to hold back a sob. Triss waits patiently, keeping her hands on the girl’s cheek. Slowly, Emoria opens her mouth to speak. “Mo-” But she falls silently and rubs her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for letting us in.” 

Triss isn’t sure what the ‘in’ refers to. Whether the girl means Yennefer’s home or their hearts. Or maybe she means into their arms for a warm, tight embrace when Emoria needs it. Though in the end it doesn’t truly matter. They let Emoria ‘in’ and loved her dearly. And now Triss gets to look forward to the days, weeks and years that will follow now that they’ve all settled into this new, shared life. 

From the corner of her eye, she sees Ciri hovering, trying to decide if and how she can help. Triss moves her hands down to squeeze Emoria’s shoulders. “Take a breath and let’s go eat something, okay?”

Emoria follows Triss’ instructions and when she’s ready, she takes the redhead’s hand. 

The smell of eggs, bacon and oatmeal are stronger in the hallway and Triss’ stomach growls in anticipation. Yennefer, Geralt and Dandelion all sit at the table, each nursing a cup of coffee. Once again, Triss reflects on how well the witcher and raven-haired sorceress look together. But any anxiety she feels dissipates as Yennefer looks at her with a warm smile. She tries to walk inside the room to join the others, but a weight wraps around the back of her leg making it hard for her to move. She twists, looks down at Emoria who has a tight hold on her and keeps her face buried. Knowing it will be a feat attempting to pry the girl from her, Triss opts to stumble her way to the table and hope once there Emoria will slide into a seat. Thankfully, Yennefer anticipated an outcome like this and saved two seats far from Geralt. 

Reluctantly, Emoria slumps into the seat across from Ciri while Triss takes the chair between Yennefer and the girl. 

Triss senses the awkwardness expanding and filling the room. She doesn’t want to push Emoria out of her comfort zone without the promise of a safety net. But she refuses to let them all sit in silence for the entirety of breakfast. 

“Geralt? Dandelion? Did you sleep well?”

The bard’s eyes shine brighter than the sunlight seeping through the window. “Ciri’s bed was made by the gods. It’s absolutely luxurious. The best sleep I’ve had in ages.” 

“That’s high praise coming from a man who has slipped into many beds.” Triss snorts into her hand and kicks Yennefer under the table. The raven-haired sorceress pushes ahead, acknowledging Triss’ silent rebuke with only the slightest smirk. “Though I guess your sleep is usually cut short when the husband returns.” 

“Or father,” Geralt adds. 

Dandelion opens and closes his mouth several times, still searching for a response as Ciri joins in on the laughter, easing the awkwardness further. They fill their plates and the conversation flows easily, though Emoria says nothing. Once she’s finishes her meal, Triss runs her hand absentmindedly down the girl’s lush hair while sipping a cup of tea. Once or twice, Emoria perks up at the gentle touch. 

“I think someone’s due for a nice trim soon,” Yennefer says, leaning across to pinch the end of Emoria’s hair. It has grown over the past few weeks, now comfortably resting well beyond her shoulders. Though Emoria wears it in a ponytail most times. 

“Maybe this afternoon?” the girl offers, her first words since breakfast started. 

Yennefer nods with a smile. 

Geralt clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. He looks directly at Emoria. “I’m, uh, Geralt, by the way.”

“Good start,” Dandelion says, mockingly. This earns him a stern glare from the two sorceresses and the witcher. “Sorry, keep going.” 

“I’m Emoria.”

“Nice to meet you. Ah, uh...hm…” He trails off, his eyes darting towards the ceiling. Triss bites back a smile, her hand still sweeping down Emoria’s head. The girl trembles ever so slightly as they wait. The redhead doesn’t envy Geralt in the slightest. What does he say to the daughter of his former lovers? How could they even establish a friendship? It would take a while for Emoria to work through her anxiety whenever he’s present. And maybe she would never fully trust the witcher. Maybe there will always be that part of her that worries he’ll steal Yen or Triss away, breaking up the family. 

But Triss knows the witcher well and knows that he possesses a good heart with a soft spot for children. He’ll work to remedy this. No matter how much discomfort he’ll encounter. 

“Alright,” he says slowly, more to himself than to the others. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Rising, he walks around until he’s on Emoria’s side and sits on his knees. “I won’t get into the details surrounding my history with Yen or Triss. Short version is I loved them both. I still hold love for them. But as dear friends and I’m happy they’re in my life.”

Emoria chews over her next words. “You’re not going to take Lady Yennefer away?”

“No,” Geralt says with conviction. “Never.”

“I’m glad for that, Sir Geralt,” she says, her voice cracking.

“Just Geralt.”

The girl nods. “Okay. Geralt. I-I’d like us to be friends eventually.”

“I’d like that too. And to start I can offer two gifts.” 

With a lazy flick of her wrist, Yennefer opens the small portal above Geralt and the bagged treats he purchased yesterday falls into his lap. They still smell freshly baked as though they were purchased mere hours ago. With a shy smile, he offers it to Emoria which the girl accepts with shaky hands. She peers inside and gasps. Triss spots several large cookies, slices of bread and hard honey candies. 

“Share with the others,” Geralt says. 

“Th-thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. My second gift is this: don’t let Yen cut your hair.”

“Hey!”

“She always cuts too short.” Geralt stands to his feet and returns to his seat. He grins at the raven-haired woman, who gawks at him. 

“It’s kind of true,” Ciri says. Yennefer whips her head to stare at her oldest daughter. “But my hair grows quickly so it rarely bothers me.” Triss knows that the last part is tacked on for Yennefer’s sake. 

“What do you think, Triss?”

“You’ve actually never cut my hair.” 

Speaking around the honey candy in her mouth, Emoria says, “I trust Lady Yennefer.”

The raven-haired sorceress thanks the girl, before sending another glare in Geralt’s direction. Though the look lacks any real tension or heat. And as Geralt laughs, the final string of awkwardness in the air has been cut. Emoria continues to sit mostly in silence, though she no longer looks away when Geralt or Dandelion make eye contact. She sticks close to Yennefer or Triss as they all work together to clear the dishes and clean the kitchen. But Triss knows it’s okay. That animosity and fear that Emoria once held towards Geralt is now replaced with a genuine curiosity to figure out who he is. 

It’s another perfect day, with warm temperatures, clear skies and people milling about. Plans are quickly made to enjoy some fresh air and everyone separates to their own corner of the house to freshen up. 

But just as they emerge from their rooms, ready to take on the day, a knock sounds on the door. Triss can only think of a few people who would make an unexpected call. But she knows who is on the other side of the door. And judging by Emoria’s grip on her trousers, the girl has a similar prediction. Seeing the fear in her daughter’s eyes, Triss readies herself for the battle she and Yen are about to face. 

“She’s not taking you from us,” she says, her voice calm and steady. “This is your home.”

Emoria nods wordlessly. 

“Mistress Granger.” Yennefer’s voice carries from the front of the house. That name once filled Triss with a paralyzing fear, making her feel inadequate and defenseless. “Come in. Shall I get you anything?” 

Now, though, there’s a clarity to her thoughts and a strength to her words. She feels like she’s in Aretuza, deep in her studies and on the cusp of some new spell that will propel her life forward. It’s like the final moment before unleashing a devastating amount of magic.

“No. I hope to make this a quick call,” the woman says. 

Ciri presses her lips against the side of Clarissa’s head. “We’ll wait in the living room,” the young witcher says. Her green eyes flit down to Emoria’s direction, who still cowers behind Triss. The girl makes no attempt at moving and doesn’t acknowledge Ciri’s hand on her shoulder. “See you in a bit.” 

“Good luck,” Dandelion says. 

Geralt nods as he passes Triss. “Whistle if you need help.”

Triss and the two girls linger in the silent hallway for a moment longer. 

“I’ve come out of every battle alive,” the redhead whispers. “Some skirmishes left me bruised and scarred, but I’ve always healed. I know this will be tough Emoria and I know you’re scared. I won’t belittle your emotions. I would never want to do that to you. But I’m asking you to trust us.”

“Okay. I trust you. But I am scared,” she admits. 

“So am I. And Yen probably is too. So let’s all be scared together.”

Emoria extracts herself from Triss’ leg and takes her hand. The redhead waits for a signal. The girl squeezes once and takes the lead. 

In the study, Yennefer leans against one of the bookcases with her arms crossed over her chest. Granger lifts one eyebrow, watching from her spot on the chaise lounge as Triss and Emoria enter. Emoria breaks away from Triss and rushes to Yennefer’s side, wrapping her arms around the sorceress’ waist. This brings out a mocking smile from Granger and Triss decides then to set the conversation’s tone herself. 

“We’re adopting Emoria and Clarissa,” Triss says before anyone else can utter a word. “We’ve cared for them for weeks. We love them. Yen and I are too embedded in these girls’ lives to ever walk away. So, we’re keeping them regardless of what your opinion may be. We have the means to pay whatever legal fees we must and will gladly sign all the paperwork.”

It’s like she cast a spell to freeze everyone in time. Granger stares at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. Yennefer’s shock is more fierce pride and fondness than genuine surprise. And Emoria has stilled, hanging on to every word that the redhead utters. 

Triss turns her body towards Granger, giving the woman her full attention. “You said the orphanage is the only home you’ve ever known and I’m sorry for that,” Triss says. “I’m sorry no one picked you. I know what it’s like to be looked over when all you want is affection.”

She can’t help it. She thinks back to the years when she and Yennefer were nothing more than friends. There were so many little moments where she sat with bated breath, waiting for the raven-haired sorceress to recognize and return her affection to no avail. The raven-haired sorceress was bonded to the witcher, leaving Triss to wonder where she fit in her friend’s life and heart. And there were others beside Yennefer who the redhead felt an attachment to. She let knights, magistrates, scholars and royals use her body and twist and mangle her emotions until she was left crying in empty, dark, cold rooms. So many flowery promises of continued affection, if only she’d part her legs for the night. But when the sun rose, she woke to an empty bed with the once occupied side painfully cold to the touch. 

She used to think her desire for affection was pathetic. Other sorceresses found meaning elsewhere. In their studies. Or their political pursuits. But Triss only wanted love and a domesticity that she thought was reserved for fairy tales. Philippa had once chastised her for ‘thinking with your vagina.’ And the rumors and gossip ran through the small circle of magic users whenever Triss’ latest attempt at love fell through. While many marvelled at her magical and alchemical abilities, Triss was aware that those same admirers labeled her as ‘easy,’ ‘blinded by love,’ or ‘too beholden to her emotions.’ 

But what was wrong with wanting love?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Triss  _ does  _ understand Granger and Emoria. The simplest act of care or affection from Yennefer leaves her in a state of bliss for days. 

But…

“You shouldn’t have poisoned Emoria’s mind or made her feel undeserving of a family. 

Granger’s features twist in a violent sneer, her mouth twisting in a near snarl. “I  _ never  _ poisoned her mind. I spoke the truth to her. I refuse to coddle her or any of the children in my care. This world is a cruel place.”

Triss nods. She feels that unhinged anger rise within her, but beats it into back into submission. She won’t lash out with her daughters near. “The world is cruel. Yen and I have experienced cruelty first hand. We both carry our own scars. But we cannot use our experiences as an excuse to harm these girls. Hells, it’s our history that makes us want to shower them in nothing short of the best love we can offer.” 

How many nights had she gone to bed with tears in her eyes? How many days did she spend before a mirror with a frown as she mourned the loss of her beauty after Sodden? How many times had she attempted to distance herself from Yennefer when the raven-haired woman went back to Geralt? Triss knew cruelty. She witnessed it first hand even before she became a sorceress. And yet she never could bring herself to fully shut her heart to any and everyone. It was that cruelty that made her love harder. It was that cruelty that made her want to be a mother to Emoria and Clarissa. She won’t coddle the girls. Yennefer wouldn’t allow it, even if Triss made the attempt. 

But inflicting harm will never erase the harm she endured. 

“If you want these girls, fine,” Granger spits. “Continue your fantasy and when it splinters and crashes down upon you, my doors will remain open.”

Yennefer opens her mouth to speak. But they’re all stunned into silence as a small voice sounds from the raven-haired womans’ side. “I’m never going back. Never.” Emoria keeps a firm grip on Yennefer leg to keep herself steady. Though they all must lean closer to hear her, her words never sway or falter. “This is where we belong. And now I know that you were always wrong about me.”

“Insolent brat.” 

“I’m not insolent!”

“You don’t know what that even means.”

Triss’ jaw tightens. She won’t allow Granger to bicker with Emoria like this. Not in front of her. Yennefer looks about ready to pounce on the old woman, her lilac eyes flashing a deep violet from rage. 

“I know what it means,” Emoria says, speaking louder. “It means rude and I know I’m not that. I was never rude. Not at first. I was scared. Angry. I wanted my parents back. You were meant to comfort me. But you mocked me, made me feel stupid and insignifacant. Like no one would never need or love me.” 

Hearing this does nothing to abate Triss’ rage. But she forces herself to remain quiet. To stand and listen to Emoria. To support her daughter, no matter how much her mind screams at her to take control of the conversation. 

“I’m still scared,” she admits. “And angry. I wish my parents would come back, only to see what they’ve lost. Because I know what it means to have people who love you and I never want to go back to a life before Lady Triss and Lady Yennefer.”

Granger places all her weight on her hands and a nasty smile appears. “They’ll get bored of you. With their long lifespans, they’ll flit to some other venture when your novelty has worn off.”

“You speak as if we can’t hear you,” Yennefer says through clenched teeth. Her free hand forms a fist at her side and a vein in her neck pulses from rage. “Mind your words and tone.”

Emoria pulls on the sorceress’ arm. “It’s okay. She’s wrong. I know she is.”

“Still, I will not allow you to speak that way to Emoria. We’ve said our peace and you’ve said yours. As Triss requested, send us the necessary forms and bills so we can make it official. Have it delivered by courier, for I wish to never lay eyes on you again.”

“I’m not done,” Emoria says. She looks directly into Yennefer’s eyes. “Not yet.”

Yennefer wants to say more. No doubt her own mind is telling her to intervene before she loses control and taps into her magic. She glances at Triss, silently asking what they should do. But the redhead nods, reluctantly. Realizing that the sorceresses will hold their tongues, Emoria closes her eyes and takes a deep, meditative breath. 

“Lady Yennefer once said this is not an inn, this is a home,” she whispers. “It’s  _ my _ home now. And I’m their daughter. Even if you rip me away from them, you’ll never take away the love they have for me or the love I have for them. I don’t want to leave my home.” Her voice cracks as the last of her strength crumbles away. She spins and buries her face in Yennefer’s legs, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. 

Granger is not moved by her words or her tears. She sits there with a passive, mildly irritated expression. Triss looks back and forth between her sobbing daughter and the unimpressed old woman. It’s almost like peering into the future. Having been denied love and affection for so long, the crying girl warped into a woman with a shriveled heart, incapable of experiencing any vulnerability or compassion. Granger is who Emoria will become if she’s pulled from this home. That  _ was _ Emoria’s fate. 

Until she broke into Yennefer’s home in search of her baby sister. Until she grew closer to Ciri over a late night dinner. Until she warmed to the sorceresses who passed through this house and embraced the witcher who once threatened her future. 

Now Emoria is on a new path. One that Triss, Yennefer, Ciri and Clarissa walk with her. And as much as she’s prone to optimism, the redhead can’t say with certainty that this new path will lead to an endlessly bright future. But she knows it will be better than the one that leads to a future ‘Granger’ in the world. 

The old woman rises to her feet, her expression still unreadable. “ _ Fine. _ You want to continue this ludicrous endeavor? Go ahead. I’ll have paperwork sent by courier.” She smooths out the ruffles in her dress and makes her way to the door. Triss notices how the old woman never glances at Emoria. “I’ve expressed my concerns with you two about  _ that one _ . You  _ can  _ afford better.”

“There is no  _ better _ with children,” Triss says. She forces herself to look elsewhere, fearing that she’ll be moved to strike Granger should she continue to stare at that blank expression. “You pour yourself into them and pray you don’t screw up along the way.”

“Hm. Didn’t realize sorceresses were the type to pray.” 

“Get out. Now!” Yennefer is red in the face and the muscles in her jaw flex repeatedly under her skin. Triss moves to stand next to her lover, to serve as a physical barrier should Yennefer opt to lay hands on the orphanage director. She can see that Yennefer is near the end of her patience, only a few choice words away from stalking across the room to slap the woman. And while it would give Triss immense pleasure to see such a scene, she knows she and Yennefer must redirect their energy towards comforting Emoria. 

Granger doesn’t look over her shoulder or bid the women and girl a proper goodbye. There are no tears in her eyes or hesitation to her movements. It’s as if the conversation isn’t seared into her memories. She opens the door, steps down the hall and out the front door for, what Triss hopes, is the very last time. 

“That vile, sleezy, insufferable…”

“Yen.” She jerks her head down in Emoria’s direction, who has a vice like grip on Yennefer’s legs. Triss knows it’s far more important to comfort and reassure their daughter, no matter how strong the temptation is to catch up to Granger and sling more hurtful words in her direction. 

Emoria pulls back and wipes at her teary eyes. “I’m okay. I’m happy.” She holds out a hand reaching for Triss. As she takes her daughter’s hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze, she feels a momentous shift. A shedding of a cloak that choked the air from her lungs. There’s still paperwork to sign and money to be exchanged. 

But there’s nothing in their way anymore. No menacing figure waiting in the shadows to jump out and split them apart. For once, Destiny was off its horse and relaxing in a meadow, instead of dipping its menacing fingers in their lives, strumming up new forms of chaos. 

It’s quiet. Peaceful. 

Tears spring to Triss’ eyes, but Yennefer wipes them away before placing a kiss on her cheek. “It’s okay,” the raven-haired sorceress whispers into her skin. Triss nods to herself, letting the words and emotions attached to them finally settle within her. 

The study’s door opens again. “Well?” Ciri asks. 

“There’s some paperwork and fees to pay,” Yennefer says. “But well…” Her voice cracks and this time Triss must console her. This was always Yennefer’s wish. The one thing she desired most, even when other magic users told her it was impossible. But she was given a chance to raise Ciri and now she gets another opportunity. 

Ciri walks in and embraces them. Triss smiles, thinking of the countless times Ciri had to take the lead in emotional support. She is perceptive, aware of people’s emotions before they even showed the first crack. It’s how she can so easily bond with everyone in her life. In a way, Triss realizes, Ciri is the cornerstone of this new family, the one who held out her hand to Emoria with nothing but a warm smile on her face and a promise to listen. If it wasn’t for the young witcher, this experience would have a different outcome. 

Triss kisses Ciri’s forehead. “Give us a minute, okay?”

Silently, the young witcher nods and guide Emoria out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Once alone, Triss cups Yennefer’s face, running her thumbs along the smooth skin. 

“Bet you never thought you’d end up with such an emotional woman,” Yennefer teases, her voice heavy from the weight of her tears. 

“I don’t mind,” Triss says. “You’ve been there when I’ve cried.”

Yennefer hums and nuzzles her nose against the redhead’s. “It’s because I’ve always loved you Triss. Even if it took me a while to realize how deep that love ran.” She cups the back of Triss’ head, pulls her in for a deep, languid kiss that leaves both women breathless. “We’re really doing this?”

“We are.” 

“No second thoughts?’

Triss glances up, pretending to think hard on the question. She smiles. “I mean I  _ am _ concerned about what Geralt said. About you cutting hair too short.”

“Oh shut it.”

They both chuckle against each other. Triss walks her fingers up Yennefer’s arm, to her shoulder before letting her wrist hang loosely behind her neck. She smirks at the slight shiver from the other woman. “No Yen, no second thoughts. About  _ any of this. _ ”

Yennefer searches Triss’ face, her features gradually softening the longer she stares. Triss feels as though a final piece is sliding into place for the raven-haired sorceress, though she’s unsure what conclusion Yennefer just reached. It makes her nervous, in a giddy, anticipatory way. 

“How about for you? Any second thoughts about being with me?”

“No,” Yennefer says. “None what so all.” 

“Perfect.” Triss tries to peel her eyes away from Yennefer’s glossy lips, but it’s hard to not follow the soft curve of her upper lip. “We should get out there before Dandelion starts to grow bored.” 

Yennefer notices Triss’ stare and smirks. “You’re right. We should get out there.”

“Yen…”

“I’ll make time for you. Don’t worry.” She steps smoothly out of Triss’ arms. “In fact, I may have a gift for you,” she says, raising her eyebrow. “Come on. Let’s join the others.”

Plans are made to spend the rest of the day out of the house. It’s a beautiful sunny day and, despite Geralt’s protests, they portal to the river that runs outside the city’s walls. Triss fears it will be awkward at first, with such an odd group. But Emoria pulls Ciri to the edge of the water, with Geralt following closely behind. They meditate, before the witchers unsheath their swords and practice their swings and attacks. Emoria watches with rapt attention the entire time, breaking the flow of their practice to ask questions. 

“Can I hold it?” she asks after a while. 

Geralt casts a nervous look in Triss and Yennefer’s direction. “It’s fine Geralt,” Triss says. Though Yennefer gives him a scathing glare that could freeze the land if magic powered it. 

“Next time I visit, I’ll bring a sword that’s the right size for you.”

Emoria beams at him as she grips the sword’s hilt, completely missing the way Yennefer’s eyebrows shoot up to meet her hairline. 

“Why are you against her taking up a sword?” Dandelion asks. He holds Clarissa in his lap, with his lute across his legs. The baby squeals as she grips one of the taut strings and plucks it. The note carries through the meadow, causing some of the birds to chirp in response. 

“I’m not against it,” Yennefer says. “Just it’s hard enough with Ciri on the Path. It’ll be hard having another daughter on the Path.”

“That’s years from now,” the bard says. “If it even happens.”

“I suppose.” 

Triss lets her head rest on Yennefer’s shoulder. “Don’t worry too much,” she whispers. “She’ll find her way and we’ll be there to support her.” 

“I know.” And slowly, as Emoria becomes comfortable with the movements of the witchers’ sword work, a smile graces Yennefer’s lips and her hand relaxes on Triss’ knee. 

After midday, as the sun begins to set and casts a deep golden hue over the lands, they return home for dinner. Triss and Yennefer work together to roast a leg of lamb and cook a variety of side dishes. The spread weighs down the table, but they eat everything leaving nothing but grease and crumbs. And before exhaustion can set in, they gather in front of the hearth with Dandelion at the front with his lute in his hands. He sings a ballad of an Elven princess who returns home to a garden that naturally grew people despite the years it sat alone. After it ends, he pulls Clarissa in his lap and tries to sing a jaunty, merry song that sailors sing when they return from battle. But the baby adds her own squeals and plucks the wrong note, changing the entire arrangement.

“We’ll take it on the road in a few years,” he says, pinching her cheek. “We’ll be swimming in praises and roses and possibly grab the attention of the right patrons.” 

It’s late in the night by the time they all wind down. Geralt and Dandelion agree to spend the night again, forcing the girls to share a bed with the sorceresses. Emoria yawns and snuggles deeper into Yennefer’s embrace, inhaling her lilac and gooseberry perfume. Though the girl’s eyes are shut in an attempt to fall asleep, Triss can feel Emoria thinking in that deep quiet way. At the foot of the bed, Ciri lays on her back with Clarissa rising and falling on her chest in time with her breathing. The baby has long been asleep and Ciri brushes her hand along her soft hair absentmindedly as she too starts to drift. Triss rises from her spot at the vanity and slides under the covers, settling in the middle to give Ciri enough space to slide in next to her. 

“Lady Yennefer?”

“Yes?” she says, drawing out the sound. 

Emoria is quiet again, thinking. Finally she says, “Ciri calls you ‘Mom.’”

Triss and Yennefer share a quick look. The redhead already feels a maelstrom of emotions build within her. She’s forcing the air out her lungs trying to breathe normally. Triss wondered when this conversation would happen. She had long since grown weary of being addressed formally by Emoria when their relationship is warm and loving. But she is nervous about where this conversation could lead. 

Emoria squirms in Yennefer’s arms and the raven-haired woman loosens her hold. But Emoria reaches for Yennefer’s hand, before grabbing Triss’ and laying it flat over the other sorceress’. Her brown eyes take in Yennefer’s face with a smile. “Mom,” she whispers. She looks at Triss. “Mommy.” She says these two words in that slow, careful, questioning way, afraid that she’s overstepping a boundary. 

Triss is unprepared for the way this simple title makes her want to sob. She feels something well up in her chest, bubbling and bursting in her throat making it difficult for her to speak. Yennefer has tears coming down her eyes and she nuzzles against the side of Emoria’s head, nodding. 

“Is it okay?” Emoria asks.

“Yes,” Triss whispers. 

It’s beyond okay. It’s beautiful. And heartwarming. And nerve-wracking because this is her responsibility now. Hers and Yennefer’s. And despite the rush of anxiety she feels, Triss knows this is how her life should be. After everything she and Yennefer survived, this home, this domesticity and these girls waited for them. The sweetest treasure after years of wandering and fighting in this cruel world. 

So yes, for Triss, this is more than okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe there's only one more chapter to go! And I'm so excited for it! 
> 
> As always, thank you, thank you, thank you for the kudus, comments and the support. I don't think I would have finished this fanfiction if it wasn't for you all. I'm sad to see this story end, but I still have plans for this family. 
> 
> Take care! See you soon when I post the last chapter!


	27. Where I've Loved You (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are at the final chapter...sort of. I'll explain in my note at the bottom. For now, just enjoy part one of this story's finale.

Yennefer runs the brush along her top lip one final time, before pressing her lips together to spread the lipstick on her bottom lip. She focuses on her reflection in the mirror, running her finger lightly over the makeup to ensure its even. The shade is deeper and darker than what she usually wears, a crimson that reminds her of an aged port wine from the markets of Toussaint. But given the night ahead of her, she chooses to wear her finest makeup, dress in her most expensive outfits and smooth down her raven tresses. 

Emoria watches her from the foot of the bed, sitting cross-legged and hunched forward. “You look pretty Mom,” she says, awe-struck. 

It’s been two days since her middle daughter began referring to her as ‘Mom’ and yet Yennefer’s heart still flutters at the simple word. She never imagined she would experience this much joy, since Ciri has referred to her as such since she was a child. But everytime she hears Emoria call her ‘Mom’ or Triss ‘Mommy’ she feels herself among the clouds with a dreamy smile on her face. And it’s contagious. Just yesterday, Triss dropped a platter of boiled cabbage when Ciri casually called her ‘Mommy.’ They all had a laugh and cry as they worked to clean the mess. 

“Thank you sweetheart. But I’m not done yet.” Yennefer inspects her makeup one final time before rising from the vanity. She and Triss dress in separate parts of the house. It was Yennefer’s suggestion, a way to add anticipation and intrigue for the night ahead. She planned everything down to the finest details, checking and double checking her plans to ensure nothing fell through. She kept Triss in the dark. The redhead had always managed to surprise and steal Yennefer’s breath with her thoughtfulness. She wants to return the favor. 

And set the mood for a question that’s festered within her for the past few weeks. 

Her outfit for the evening sits on a headless mannequin in the corner of the room. She pinches her silk blouse between two fingers, giving the entire piece one final look before she dons it. It’s a simple, yet elegant outfit that she purchased especially for this night. The trousers are made of the softest hand woven cotton, dyed in a dark forest green. High-waisted with four golden buttons and a thick cord of leather that must be tied around her midsection, the pants’ legs stop just at her ankles. The blouse is expensive silk imported from a foreign market she can’t recall the name of. A pale cream, its sleeves cuff her wrists and are loose around her forearms and biceps. She tucks it into her pants, smoothing wrinkles out of it. Yennefer slips into the sleeveless waistcoat next, buttoning it to the very top. Though the coat’s opening gives a peek of her cleavage that hides behind her blouse’s flaps. 

She slips into woolen socks (not the most appealing part of her outfit she admits) and steps into thigh length leather boots with a wedge that gives her two or three inches over Triss. Picking up her bottle of signature perfume, she sprays once along her neck and on her wrists, rubbing them together. 

From behind, she hears Emoria whistle in appreciation as she inspects herself in the mirror. Using an array of pins, Yennefer’s hair is parted down the middle with the top half sitting in a bun at the back of her head while the rest of her locks cascade down her shoulders and back. She nods to herself after the final inspection. 

“What do you think?” she asks, letting her hands sit on her hips. 

“I think Mommy will love it. You look so beautiful.”

Yennefer tucks her leather gloves into her pants. “Thank you Emoria. Do you know what Triss will wear?” Though she wanted to keep her outfit a surprise, she did task her daughter with uncovering what her lover would be wearing. She suspects the redhead figured out the ruse, but Yennefer thinks there’s no harm in asking. 

Emoria shakes her head. “No. She’s kept it a close secret. I don’t think even Ciri knows. Well now she might.” When it was time for Yennefer and Triss to prepare for the night, Ciri and Emoria split off to keep the sorceresses company. Yennefer’s not sure if it was a decision reached with much discussion or if their daughters silently chose which sorceress they would accompany. But she is glad to have Emoria here with her. 

“Thank you for trying anyway. And you’ll be alright here for the night?” Geralt and Dandelion are still in town and agreed to help take care of Emoria and Clarissa while the sorceresses are away. Though in reality, Yennefer suspects it will all dissolve into unadulterated revelry once the women are gone. “Triss and I may not make it back in the night. But we’ll be here in the morning, I swear. And should you need us, Ciri knows how to contact us. We’ll rush back immediately.”

“I know. We’ll be fine. Promise.” Emoria grins at her. 

There’s a knock on the bedroom door and seconds later, Dandelion pokes his head in. “Triss is ready.” 

When Emoria hops off the bed, she takes Yennefer’s hand and they walk side by side out in the hall. The sorceress wants to drop to her knees when she lays eyes on Triss. 

Before they separated to dress for the evening, Yennefer suggested that Triss ‘dress for the elements and a bit of walking.’ And the redhead took such a simple comment and managed to spin it into an outfit that made Yennefer’s mouth run dry. 

The redhead wears a sapphire colored blouse with intricate patterns stitched in gold twine around the scoop neck and openings that reveal her strong shoulders. Her trousers, a soft tawny, rest on her hips and a thick leather belt hugs her waist. She wears little makeup, just an even smear of green below her brows and a pink lipstick that almost resembles her natural lip color. Yennefer is so used to those tiny buns or a singular ponytail that she does a double take at the straightened red hair that drapes Triss’ shoulders and beautifully frames her face. The ends are curled ever so slightly and Yennefer wishes to wrap it around her fingers and watch as it falls back into place. 

Emoria lets go of her hand and rushes down the stairs to hug Triss. “You look so, so, so, so beautiful! Just like Mom.”

Triss squeezes the girl’s shoulder, though her cornflower blue eyes are directed at Yennefer who walks down to the first floor. “Yes, we both look breathtaking.” And as Triss’ eyes drift down to take in the raven-haired woman’s lips, Yennefer considers forgoing the other parts of the night and portaling them straight to their final destination. She’s still lost in thought and potential upheavals of her carefully laid plan that she barely notices the steps in the hall. She smiles as Geralt balances Clarissa on his shoulders and walks with a jaunty bounce, encouraging Clarissa to laugh and giggle. The baby has a firm grip on his thumbs, but Yennefer knows she’s in no danger of toppling over onto the floor. He lowers down and she takes Clarissa in her arms, inhaling the jasmine scent from her bath. 

“We’ll be back by the morning,” Triss says. 

“Sure you will,” Dandelion teases. 

Ciri punches him lightly on his arm. “We _won’t_ burn down the house.”

“I’m already second-guessing this,” Yennefer says, though she hands over Clarissa at Ciri’s prompting. She hugs and kisses each girl, with Triss doing the same and thanks Geralt and Dandelion for their overnight guardianship. Though who are the guards and who are the wards remains to be seen in Yennefer’s eyes. Dandelion all but throws their fur lined cloaks at them and ushers them towards the door. 

“Now the revelry can begin!” he shouts once the sorceresses are safely on the other side of the threshold. Yennefer frowns, but her worries are quickly forgotten as Triss takes her cloak from her grasp, slips it over her shoulders and fastens it under her chin. 

“Sorry, my hand slipped,” the redhead mutters, sounding completely unapologetic, as her fingers graze the top of Yennefer’s chest. There’s still plenty of daylight to see the wide smirk on Triss’ face and Yennefer shivers, despite the newfound warmth. 

“I’m sure. Come here. Let me return the favor.” She stoops and brazenly kisses Triss’ neck before the cloak can cover it. And as her fingers work to secure the clasp, she trails soft kisses up to Triss’ jaw before planting one final peck on her lips. Again Yennefer feels her resolve crumbling as Triss inhales sharply through her nose and arches into the raven-haired woman. “You look absolutely gorgeous tonight. Ravishing, really.”

“I wanted to impress you.”

“You always do.” 

Triss slips her hand in Yennefer’s, lacing their fingers together. “You’re the impressive one. Always were. Always will be.” 

The moment is interrupted by several raps against the window. The women turn, Yennefer with a slight scowl once her eyes land on Dandelion, while Triss shines a wide smile at the others. 

“Is _that_ where you’re taking her?” the bard asks. “Because the interior is much more cozier. And warm.”

“No, we’re leaving now.” Yennefer waits as Triss blows a kiss at their girls, before leading her down the cobbled street.

The work day is ending for many and they file out on the streets to slip into taverns, shops or their homes. The sorceresses blend in with ease, moving with the flow of the crowd until they’ve reached one of the city’s open gates. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” 

They step off the road and onto the grassy field. Yennefer puts as much distance between them and the road, before lifting her hand. She conjures their first destination in her mind, studying Triss’ face to see if the redhead is actively reading her thoughts. She wants to surprise her lover as many times as possible tonight, but keeps their mental connection intact to avoid any suspicions. 

They both step back as the portal opens in front of them. “You trust me, right?”

“Yes, Yenna.” 

Yennefer is rarely prone to nervousness. She can count on one hand the times she felt her stomach clenching painful in fear or anticipation. But tonight her insides roll and lurch at the idea of something going awry. She wants tonight to be perfect. 

She needs to be perfect. 

Triss brings a hand to her cheek, runs her thumb along the smooth skin being mindful not to disrupt Yennefer’s makeup. “Don’t be nervous,” she whispers. “I’m eager for the night.”

The raven-haired sorceress nods to herself. “I love you.”

Triss’ eyes widen and just as quickly soften. “I love you too. Let’s go.” She takes the lead, though it’s Yennefer’s portal and pulls them through the black and gold swirls that distort the air. 

The grass beneath them is replaced with fine grains of sand. The golden sunlight rays stretches across the rippling blue ocean and white, foamy waves that meet the craggy beach. Yennefer was mindful of the rocks when considering their arrival point. They stand in front of a massive boulder with the beach stretched out before them. 

“Where are…” Triss’ question trails off as she sees the island in the distance. And behind the haze, like black fingers reaching towards the sky, are the ruined, jagged towers and pillars of… “Aretuza.”

Yennefer nods, letting go of the inside of her cheek that she bit as they portaled to the Temerian coast. “It’s where we first met. Where this,” she says, gesturing between them, “first began.” 

Triss whirls on her heel, mouth agape, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears as she spots the outline of Gors Velen. The redhead releases a heavy sigh as her arms rest by her side. “The last time we were here was during…”

“The coup. Yes, I remember. Though that’s not what I want us to think about tonight.”

“What do you want us to think about then?” Triss asks. Yennefer can’t tell if it’s irritation, confusion, pain or sorrow in the redhead’s voice. Or is it a combination of all four? Is this all a mistake? Should she bring them back to Vengerburg and abandon her plan?

Yennefer pushes back her own doubts. “About our milestones, no matter how hurtful they may be. You said you trust me. Please know I have good intentions.” She holds out a hand that trembles. 

Triss digs a small hole in the sand with her shoe, avoiding Yennefer’s eye. “I do trust you.” She takes the proffered hand, following along quietly as the raven-haired sorceress leads them a few feet away from where they landed. 

There, facing the crashing waves and the setting sun, is a blanket with a beautiful spread on top. The candles planted in the sand ignite one by one as the women settle on the blanket with the platter between them. Triss eyes the assortment of cheese, meats, jam and bread as Yennefer pours two healthy servings of a red wine from Geralt’s cellars. 

“We certainly didn’t often while we were students,” Triss says, accepting the wine. 

“I don’t think Rectross de Vries would have approved leisurely alcohol consumption within her school.” 

“That rarely stopped you.”

Yennefer smirks against her glass and takes a slow sip, letting the earthy wine sit on her tongue so she can uncover the flavors pressed into it. There are notes of cherry, pear and allspice, with hints of oak to punctuate it all. It’s sweeter than she’d like, but Triss preferred sweetness to dryness and Yennefer is happy to accommodate. 

Triss pinches off a piece of cheese and spreads it across a slice of bread. “Tell me,” she whispers. “Why did you bring us here?”

Yennefer peels her eyes away from the coastline and the school’s ruins in the distance. She’s shocked at the ache she feels within her chest. Aretuza was never a warm and inviting place. Her years there were intellectually, physically, emotionally and socially challenging. But now that she’s back, sitting on the same beach where she, Triss and other girls spent their rare free nights stargazing and enjoying a moment’s repose, she finds that her memories of those decades are wistful and emotional. 

“It’s where we met, all those years ago. I remember the first time I saw you and that moment I decided we could be friends.”

“Really?”

Yennefer nods. “You were in the greenhouse and I was in need of some sage for an elixir. You were enthralled in your work that you didn’t hear me enter. And you were humming. It was so strange.” She remembers it well. Triss was bent over a table, pruning some of the aromatic herbs that were growing unruly from lack of proper care. Yennefer intended to slip in, gather her supplies and dash back to her room to complete her work. But the soft noise stopped her in her tracks and she peered around the corner, curious about the source of the humming. When she first spotted Triss, admittedly, she thought the young woman was plainly looking, no different than any other common girl in Gors Velen. “You were smiling though. I always thought you had a nice smile. Genuine. Warm. Joyous.”

“Yenna…”

“I stood there listening to you for only a few minutes. But it was enough time for my elixir to spoil, forcing me to start over. A worthwhile loss.” 

Triss wipes at her eyes and stares down into her glass, thinking. Without prompting, Yennefer refills their glasses and chews on a strawberry slice. She sees the flash of recognition in Triss’ eyes the exact moment the redhead reaches her conclusion. 

“The ball? The first time we spoke? You knew who I was?” she asks.

“The night you spilled wine on me?”

Triss’ face reddens in embarrassment. “It was an accident.”

“No it wasn’t Triss,” Yennefer says, feeling guilty that she was just now revealing the truth. “I knew what I was doing.”

This confession does little to soften the color in Triss’ cheeks. “You could have said ‘hi’ if you wanted to speak to me.” She says this with good humor and Yennefer is grateful the redhead isn’t upset or angry with her. The school had been celebrating the arrival of some prestigious sorcerer. But Yennefer didn’t care. She was committed to speaking to the young woman from the greenhouse and knew that night would be the perfect opportunity. She wasn’t sure how best to approach her target, especially with the woman floating from group to group to converse with as many people as she could. And Yennefer gave her ‘spilt wine’ plan little thought as she crossed the room and bumped into the redhead. 

“Triss, I had the social skills of drying paint. I had no clue how to approach you.”

“So you caused a scene?”

“It’s what I do best. Besides, I knew you would be mortified by what happened. That’s why I dragged you out the feasting hall.” 

Triss snorts into her hand, her shoulders shaking from her contained laughter. Yennefer doesn’t hold back her chuckles, her eyes watering the harder she laughs. Now that she relives it, she can see how that wasn’t the best first impression. But the results were in her favor. She learned Triss’ name, hometown, age and other useful facts as they spoke in the school’s restroom. She found that she enjoyed listening to the redhead speak and found excuses to continue to talk to her, until their friendship warmed and they could seek the other out without much pretense. 

“Gods, what will we tell the girls when they ask how we met?” Triss says, still laughing. 

“I’ll tell them that I was too nervous to speak to you properly, but your kindness shone through and our friendship blossomed from there.” Yennefer finishes the rest of her wine and sets the glass to the side. “I’d also say should they ever make a similar attempt, make sure to wear a least favorite outfit. My hijinks ruined a top I was quite fond of.”

Triss smirks and raises an eyebrow. “I think you got a better one in the long run.” 

Yennefer stares at her curiously before the meaning hits her. Her face burns and she stares out at the ocean. “W-well, there’s no debate there.” 

“Hm.” Her head falls on Yennefer’s shoulder and she laces their fingers together. “You think of our first conversation at Aretuza, while I remember our last.”

“I remember that day as well. I was set to leave for Aedirn the next day.”

“Yes. You invited me to your private quarters for dinner. It was my first time there and I was amazed at your balcony. All I had was a crummy window that overlooked the grounds. But from your room, we could see and smell the ocean. You hated the wind constantly blowing your hair, but you were so accommodating when I asked if we could dine outside.”

Yennefer thought the entire meal would be a miserable affair. She was behind in packing. There were letters and scrolls on her desk with tasks waiting for her in the kingdom. She and Philippa had a row earlier in the day over something petty. And she didn’t want to say goodbye to her dearest Triss. But when the redhead entered her chambers and immediately went out on the balcony, to marvel at the view, all of the other noise and worries seemed insignificant. 

“After we ate, we sat there and watched the sunset. It was peaceful. Almost romantic. But I remember you turning towards me with such a serious expression. It was unexpected,” she says. “I thought you were going to deliver some terrible news. But you took my hands, looked me in the eyes and told me to ‘never accept anything short of the best from now on.’ And you said it with so much emotion and conviction. That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That...that I wanted to experience the fullness of you.” She pulls her head back and locks eyes with Yennefer. When they kiss, the raven-haired sorceress feels a raging fire within her stomach that sparks and inflames the rest of her body as Triss maneuvers into her lap. Instinctively, her hands hold the redhead by the waist, pulling her close in a slow grind. She feels herself being pushed onto her back and nearly complies. But remembers the rest of her plan. 

“Triss, Triss, Triss,” she says quickly, pushing back against the woman in her lap. “We can’t. Not yet.” 

“Yenna we haven’t touched in WEEKS. Please, I want this.” 

“I do too.” The rest of her words are stuck to the back of her throat as Triss sucks on her pulse point. “B-but there are other places to visit.” 

“Can’t we stay here?”

_Yes_ , Yennefer thinks as Triss rolls her hips and brings her bottom lip between her teeth. She feels herself getting lost in that mental fog again and shakes her head. 

“No. Please this is important for us,” she says. 

“Fffffiiiiiinnnnnneeeee. I’m a patient person. I’ll wait.” Triss climbs out of Yennefer’s lap and runs her hands down her outfit, smoothing it out. The raven-haired sorceress turns away and takes several deep breaths to calm herself and shut her hormones in a box until the right moment. “So my love, where shall you take me next?” 

“It’s all a surprise Triss.”

There was little left on their charcuterie board and Yennefer magics the remaining food away, as well as the blanket and candles. She opens another portal and reaches for Triss. 

“Yen, don’t tire yourself out.”

“I won’t,” she answers. “I’ve conserved enough magic to help me through this night.” She pulls them through the portal then and they land in a small alley enclosed between two stone buildings. Their arrival caused little disturbance. The people on the sidewalks pay no attention to the two women partially hidden in shadow. 

“Where are we now?” Triss asks. 

“Maribor.” 

“Another place I haven’t visited in ages. Is that the other theme for the night?”

Yennefer pulls Triss’ hood up, covering most of her features save for her mouth and chin. Then she covers her own face and leads them to the alley’s opening. Mages and magical folks are free to roam in Maribor. But Triss Merigold is still a well known figure in the city and Yennefer wishes to avoid as much unnecessary attention as possible. 

“No,” she answers with a chuckle. 

Yennefer always thought Maribor was an odd city. Built on top of the former elven settlement, the city and its architects could never quite hide the fact that it didn’t always house humans. There are buildings with Elder Speech script infused in the stones. And plenty of natural dense clusters of trees nestled between homes and businesses. As the women walk to their destination, they can feel the magical hum of a Source deep beneath the city that the elven sages used in their studies and work. 

They make a sharp left onto a narrower side street filled with a row of small homes, some with open window shutters to allow fresh air in. Yennefer counts silently, making sure they don’t miss their destination. It’s more a detour, just a quick glimpse into their past before she takes them to the tavern and the small meal that awaits. But she sees the recognition in Triss’ eyes as they draw closer and closer until they stop in front of a small, two story loft-style home. 

“We were holed up here after Sodden,” Yennefer whispers. “You didn’t have to, but you let me in your home to recover. Though you were the one who needed a recovery period.”

“Tissaia wanted to drag us back to Aretuza. You fought her as always.”

“The last place I wanted to be after Sodden was that cold, dark, damp school and I had no energy to try to make our lodgings there comfortable. You needed to heal. Coming here was the best option.” 

She smiles as Triss squeezes their hands. The arrangement only lasted a few weeks. Two or three in Yennefer’s mind. Though it was hard keeping track of the passing time when all she saw was darkness and the vaguest greys of moving bodies as her eyesight slowly returned. She was in a state of delirium and disbelief at her predicament, arguing with all who were within range that she could manage in her _own home_ in her _own city_ . It was ridiculous, Tissaia stated. _How can you possibly care for yourself? Who will cook your meals? Or change your bandages? Or help you freshen up every day? Think Yennefer!_

But it fell on deaf ears and a hardened heart. She had her magic, though in a diminished capacity during the weeks following the battle. She was certain she could survive until her eyesight returned. 

Triss, still bedridden with bandages over her chest, spoke up in a hoarse voice pleading for her friend to be reasonable and listen to their former Rectoress. Yennefer couldn’t see her friend, but she could sense the distress in the air whenever someone spoke of the “grievous injuries done to young Merigold.” And bile burned the back of her throat as she sat on a stool by Triss’ bed as the medics worked to clean and rebandage the deep wounds curved into her chest. The redhead squirmed, exhaled and cried silently from the pain, her hand wrapped tight around Yennefer’s the entire time. The raven-haired woman wouldn’t ignore her friend’s request; she didn’t want to cause Triss anymore grief, diverting energy away from her recovery.

So a compromise was quickly made and gingerly Triss was loaded onto a cart, with her head in Yennefer’s lap. The raven-haired woman stroked her friend’s hair during the short ride to Maribor and ignored the mildly scolding look Tissaia cast in her direction every few minutes. 

“I believe Aretuza would have been the better option,” Triss says now. She faces Yennefer and steps closer, tucking her head under the raven-haired woman’s chin. Her breath warmed the other sorceress’ neck as she spoke. “But I am grateful you managed to keep us together.”

Yennefer hums and brings a hand to the back of Triss’ head, cupping it lightly. “Come. There’s food waiting for us.” 

The tavern sits on the edge of Maribor with a small courtyard that faces the castle in the center of everything. Yennefer hears Triss hum approvingly from behind. 

“We’ll eat something small before our main course,” Yennefer says as they enter. There’s a short squeal of excitement when they drop their hoods. They turn together, both smiling at the tall woman that approaches. Her blonde hair has strands and pockets of silvery grey from stress and general aging. Her once smooth tan skin now shows fine lines around her mouth, eyes and forehead. She wears the attire typical of a tavern matron, unassuming dress with grease stains and dried beer on it. But both sorceresses remember a time when the matron was a young girl dressed in a short tunic and long riding pants who was her father’s second shadow during the day. 

“My ladies! Welcome back. I have your private table, per your request Lady Yennefer. And the soup will be ready in a moment.” 

“Gwen! How are you?” Triss asks. “I’m glad you’re doing well.” 

“I’m very well, thank you. My boys have grown and I can no longer wrangle them into doing their chores. Though my sweet Donovan is as helpful as ever.” She takes them to a secluded and quiet part of the tavern. The women slide into opposite sides of a booth, facing one another. Gwen claps her hands in front of her. “I’ll check on your food.”

The curtain slips down, shielding them from the rest of the room and muffling the noise slightly. A window and a lit candle offers plenty of light. Triss rests her elbows on the table and leans forward. “What else do you have planned for tonight?”

“So many things,” Yennefer answers. She wishes she had a glass of wine to hold to hide the tremble of her hands. But Triss doesn’t look at her hands. Only her eyes, fixing her with a gaze that’s nothing but warm and loving. “My hope is that your love for me will grow hundredfold by the end of the night.”

“Impossible. I already love every inch of you.”

Yennefer smiles, but says nothing as the curtain is pulled back and Gwen appears again with two bowls with healthy servings of a steaming soup. “There you go, loves. Enjoy.”

“Apple and sweet potato,” Triss says. 

“Admittedly, I _could_ make this. But Gwen’s version is always the better option.”

“As much as I love your cooking, I will agree with that.” 

She kicks Triss’ foot under the table, chuckling. They sit and eat in silence for a few minutes. Triss continues to hum in appreciation with each small sip she takes. Gwen stops by again, dropping off a baguette and two steins of ale. 

“It’s strange how coming here makes me feel both anxiety and immense joy,” Triss whispers into her spoon. She glances up, locking eyes with Yennefer. “Once I healed, I needed to get out and stretch my legs. Geralt’s letter arrived just a few days after Tissaia said I was healthy enough to travel. I gave it little thought. I just packed what I could, purchased that gelding and set off for Kaer Morhen.” 

“What about the joy?”

“Well, you were there for most of my healing.” She swallows another spoonful of soup. Yennefer leans across the table to swipe at the thin trickle that falls from the corner of Triss’ mouth. 

“I could do very little for you in my state.”

“Your presence was enough. Talking with you helped with the pain. Plus, you made sure I received the best care from Tissaia and the others. I was thrilled to have you in my home.”

It only took two or three days for everyone to settle into a routine. Triss’ care was top priority in Yennefer’s mind as the redhead was arguably the most vulnerable after the battle. Sure she didn’t have her eyesight, but she was still able to move around and use her magic. But the redhead was rendered immobile and given her allergies to magical ailments and treatments, had to endure the excruciating pain with only basic salves and non-magical elixirs to keep the pain at bay. 

(And if Yennefer wanted to handle her own recovery in her own, silent way that was her business.)

Yennefer and Tissaia went round and round in their arguing as each fought to push their own healing methods onto the unfortunate Aretuza-backed medic who tended to Triss’ care. The rectoress had her way countless times, but Yennefer could claim several victories of her own. 

This soup was one such victory. A small gesture in Yennefer’s mind, but it always seemed to brighten up Triss when the tray was placed on her lap. Tissaia wasn’t keen on the raven-haired sorceress venturing across the city for a bowl of soup. But in a state of mild delirium, driven primarily by the amount of pain she was experiencing, Triss requested the homemade sweet potato and apple soup and Yennefer would do everything in her power to fill the redhead’s request. 

“I wish you would have stayed in Maribor,” Triss whispers. Yennefer avoids her eye and gnaws on her bottom lip. Triss pushes their empty bowls to the side and reaches across to hold the other sorceress’ hand. “I was hurt when you left. I thought maybe you were upset with me or that you and Tissaia had one big blow up. Now though, I know how much pain you were in.”

“I was a proud woman Triss. Still am. I didn’t want others to know that I was vulnerable. And, if I’m honest, the scars from my childhood were still fresh in my mind and memories.” She rarely talked about her youth to Triss. Their friendship began at Aretuza and for years Yennefer felt no pressing need to divulge any personal history that wasn’t tied to the school. Triss knows she was a hunchback with a deformity on her jaw. But she doesn’t know of the nights spent in a pigpen, even in the rain and snow. She doesn’t know of the countless beatings she took from her father and when he left, how her mother took up the mantle of physical abuse and emotional torment. Triss doesn’t know that she was given away for less than the price of a young piglet. 

Yennefer breathing picks up as those memories return to her now. 

“Yenna, it’s okay. I understand now.”

“As you were getting better, I was afraid you would try to care for me,” she whispers. “And I wanted nothing more than for you to return the care I had given you. But I was so afraid. Afraid it would be stolen from me. Or that you’d deny me your comfort. So I fled.” Her voice breaks off in a whimper and she looks out the window at the waning sunlight. 

“I would have never done such a thing.”

“I know Triss. I know.” She sighs. “But sometimes there’s a little voice in the back of my mind that tells me differently.”

“Is it still there? That voice?”

“Yes,” Yennefer admits. “Though it’s lost most of its power over me.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I.”

The curtain is pulled back then. The light and noise from the main room shock the two women. Gwen beams at them and points her chin in the direction of their empty mugs. “Another round?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to pass,” Yennefer says. She reaches inside her side purse, pulls out money to cover their small meal ten times over and sets it on the table. “We must be on our way.”

“Ah, sorcery business?”

Yennefer catches Triss’ eye and smiles. “Not quite. A personal matter.”

“Well I hope it works in your favor.”

“Me too,” she answers. She feels Triss’ hand graze her knee under the table. “Be well. We’ll return soon enough and shall stay longer the next time.”

“Please do my ladies. I enjoy seeing you. And I’ll be a better hostess then. Get my boys to do some of the legwork so we can catch up.” 

After the table is cleared and Gwen has pocketed the money, Yennefer and Triss slip back into their cloaks and head out into the cool night. The raven-haired woman intends to guide them to a secluded area where they can safely teleport. But Triss tugs hard on her arm and takes them to a shadowy part behind the tavern. The sound of crickets in the grass is quickly overpowered by Yennefer’s heart beating wildly in her chest as Triss cups her face and brings them lips together. 

And though her shoes give her several inches over Triss, Yennefer is forced on the tips of her toes as she leans into the other woman to bridge what little space was once between them. Her heart and stomach flip within, the excitement causing pleasant tingles to radiate within her body. The love she feels from Triss is like honey dripping from a nest. Like the red glow of the sun as it peeks over the horizon for a new day. Like the soft exhale after stepping into a warm room to escape the winter chill. 

When they pull back, they both suck in air and stare at each other. 

“I hope this ‘personal matter’ works in our favor,” Triss whispers. 

“It will, my love. I know it will,” she says, allowing hope to settle within her heart. She takes the redhead’s hand, places one final chaste kiss on her lips and opens a portal. “Come. Our next destination awaits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I started writing the final chapter, I quickly realized it was going to be pretty long. Almost ridiculously long. And I was afraid I wouldn't be able to upload the entire thing. 
> 
> So I decided to break the final chapter into three parts. Yay! Hopefully I will have all the parts uploaded by the end of this week (plus the epilogue because I'm finding it difficult to say goodbye to this family and fic!) 
> 
> Thank you so much for you support and kudos and comments. I may have mentioned it before, but I don't think I would have finished this fic if it weren't for you all. Take care! See you Tuesday with another update!


	28. Where I've Loved You (Part 2)

“Another beach?” Triss asks as they stand on a small grassy bluff overlooking the Gulf of Praxeda. Her cornflower blue eyes watch the waves meet and then retreat from the coast as the moon rises over it. 

“No, this was just the easiest place to land.” She tugs on Triss’ arm until the woman turns to face the exquisite city. “We’re dining here.”

Lans Exeter the winter retreat for the royals and socialites of Kovir. The city Triss would have called home for part of the year had she agreed to serve the current monarch. The stone buildings are a dark grey, near black, against the nighttime, starry backdrop. But the women see the shine from the metalwork smelted into the buildings’ foundations, walls or roofs. They walk along a cobbled street, the stones in a near perfect formation beneath their feet. They walk to a pier just before the city’s gate. Water laps gently against the wooden legs, the canal quiet despite the early hour of the evening. 

“The royal family is back in Pont Vanis,” Triss muses. 

“It was a mild winter,” Yennefer says, “At least in this part of the continent.”

A gondolier rows his boat and stops by the pier. The young man tips his wide brim hat, revealing a set of dark green eyes and a soft smile. Locks of brown hair stick out from under his hat. “Are you ladies in need of a ride into the city?” 

“Yes, we’re heading to the ‘Thistle and Buttercup.’”

“Aye. I can take you there.”

He helps Yennefer down into the boat and she holds a hand out to steady Triss as she steps off the pier. The sorceresses settle on the middle bench, close enough to touch though they keep their hands to themselves. The rower pushes off and sets a course into the heart of the city. 

“I thought of settling closer to the mountains,” Triss whispers. 

“Are you moving here?” the young man asks. 

“No,” she answers. “I was planning on it at one point. But something better came along.”

Yennefer smiles behind her hand. She shuts her eyes against the gentle passing breeze and listens to the ambient sounds of the city. It’s similar to the noise in Vengerberg, yet there’s a certain lilt to every conversation, the people here unfamiliar with the ravages of war and constant political strife. 

“I’ve missed your companionship. Your friendship. I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and that it will move you to visit, even if it’s for a short time.” Triss’ voice is soft, too low to carry further than their small bubble. “I’ll be in the Thistle and Buttercup tavern in Lans Exeter for the next few weeks, should you feel the desire to visit.”

“Impeccable memory,” Yennefer murmurs. 

Triss shrugs and pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “I saved it. And all of our letters. I actually miss receiving your correspondences.” 

Yennefer commits that to her memory just as the gondola pulls up to a small platform and a set of steps that lead to the main walkway. The sorceresses climb out and Yennefer tips the gondolier generously. 

“Enjoy the evening,” the young man says, waving before pushing off. 

The ‘Thistle and Buttercup’ tavern is a large, upscale building with a spacious, open atrium where most people take their meals. Tonight, many of the round oak tables contain at least one person, though there are empty seats scattered here and there. Yennefer nods at an elven barmaid and the woman smiles at her. 

“Right on time Lady Sorceress. Your room is ready,” the woman says. She tells them to follow her to the upper balcony. Triss is silent behind her, but Yennefer wonders what she is thinking about. 

Their room is small. If Yennefer and Triss stood side by side and reached an arm out, they could touch the walls with ease. It holds a wooden table, two dining chairs, a stone hearth with a fire that warms the space and a balcony that overlooks the network of canals. A bottle of wine, the cork already removed, sits in the middle of the table with two long stemmed glasses flanking it. The elven woman announces that their meal will arrive shortly and leaves, shutting the door quietly. 

“Did you purposefully select a room without a bed?” Triss teases. 

“Yes.”

“Hm.” 

Yennefer peels off her cloaks and drapes it over the back of the chair, before taking the bottle of wine and pouring two healthy servings into the glasses. She passes one to Triss. Their fingers brush together, the electricity in the air increasing to the point of near suffocation. But she ignores it as best she can, opening the doors to the balcony with a simple flutter of her hand. 

“I’ll continue to play along,” the redhead says. “No matter how much I wish to see you undress before me.” She takes in the room, smiling fondly as the memories rush back. “Last time we were here, you had a bad spat with Geralt.”

Yennefer claims one of the seats and crosses her legs. “There was an air of finality to it, despite the magic of the djinn. As always, I needed comfort and you were there within  _ days _ of me sending that letter.”

“Pitiful, I guess.”

She shakes her head, her dark locks wafting the floral scent in her hair around the room. “Kindness is never pitiful. Especially when I was undeserving of it. Years passed between us and yet I never reached out to check on you. But the minute I wanted companionship, there you were ready to drop everything to see about me. I’m sorry I was a terrible friend.”

“Years for us is like weeks for non-magical beings. Mages have gone centuries without speaking to their friends, only to reconnect and have a relationship that continues as normal.”

“But in those cases, it’s because they were wrapped up in their personal studies. I was enamored with a witcher.”

Triss perches on the raven-haired woman’s lap and brings their faces close together. “I will hear no more argument from you,” she whispers into Yennefer’s lips. “We’ve done our share of terrible things to the other. But love was always there.”

“Does it erase all the ugly parts? All the pain and heartache we caused each other?”

“No Yenna, it doesn’t.” Triss cups the other woman’s cheek, tilting her face until they’re able to get lost in each other’s eyes. “But it gives us a reason to work through that pain and ugliness. Our love is the reason we started over, first as friends and now as something more.”

There’s a soft knock on the door and Triss springs up from Yennefer’s lap as the elven woman returns with a tray loaded down with food. 

The main dish is a roasted salmon cooked over a bed of rosemary and drizzled with a lemon garlic white wine sauce. The filet is surrounded by baby carrots, broccoli florets, diced squash and sliced brussel sprouts. Russet potatoes, cut into short wedges, fill a bowl next to the fish. The edges of the potatoes are crisp and steam rises from it. Next to that is a platter of asparagus cooked in butter, salt, pepper and dried pepper flakes. There’s enough room for the basket of pumpernickel bread and a side of butter. 

“Enjoy my ladies.” The woman bows and makes a swift exit. 

Triss’ eyes widen at the amount of food. “Is your plan to make me lethargic from food and wine?”

“No,” Yennefer answers with a glint in her eye. “Merely to give you enough energy for the rest of the night.” This earns her a devious smirk that hits her in her stomach and pool down between her legs, forcing her to shift her legs.

“Well then I’m eager to see where this will all lead.”

For a while, they eat in a comfortable silence, letting the flavors sing and dance on their palettes. It’s rich and robust, a meal reserved for high paying guests. 

“The last time we were here, I believe we shared a stuffed turkey,” Triss says. She dabs at the corner of her mouth and scoops up another forkful of the salmon. “It’s hard to remember exactly. There was a lot of wine.”

“And a lot of angry tears on my part.”

“I remember.” 

“But you comforted me. Stayed by my side until I eventually went back to Geralt.”

“Because I love you Yenna.”

Yennefer pauses with her wine glass pressed to her lips. She studies Triss fondly, tracing the soft lines around her jaw, mouth and nose. Her freckles are lighter from the change in weather and partially hidden by the layer of makeup she wears. And her cornflower blue eyes shine bright, despite the dim glow from the fire. 

“Can I ask you something?” Yennefer sets her glass down, runs her fingers up and down the thin stem. 

“Of course.”

“H-how long have you loved me?”

Triss’ shoulders rise as she inhales and her eyes widen by a fraction. Yennefer watches a million different emotions play across the redhead’s face, before she finally settles on something akin to reluctant vulnerability. “Gods, I don’t know. For years. I thought you were beautiful when we first met at Aretuza. I guess I developed a school girl crush on you then.” She chews the inside of her cheek and looks towards the fire. “I was thrilled you considered me a friend and I convinced myself that would be enough. But deep down, I always wanted more. And if I’m honest, I went to bed with others because I hoped it would, I don’t know, lessen my feelings towards you. Though we see how that turned out.”

Yennefer reaches across the table to take Triss’ hand in hers and squeezes. The redhead takes a breath and continues. 

“My affairs with women were never secretive. But I never heard such rumors surrounding you and I was afraid if I tried to act on my feelings, you’d shoot me down. I guess it was better to pine for you from a distance than to feel the sting of rejection.”

“Triss.”

“I’ve loved you for years Yenna. Even though I stumbled and messed up and lost my way along that winding path, my love for you never dimmed or wavered. I’ll love you for centuries to come. You never had to doubt that.”

Yennefer doesn’t doubt Triss’ words. Though it took the raven-haired woman longer to reciprocate these romantic feelings, she too knows that her love for the redhead will remain undisturbed for years to come. It’s why she planned this entire night. Why she wanted to take the redhead out and enjoy her company without the possibility of their time being interrupted. She needs that clarity of the strength of their relationship. 

“I’m newer to this,” Yennefer says. “To this love. But I feel the same way Triss. I love you dearly. I don’t regret the years that are behind us. But I’m so happy we have many, many years in front of us.”  _ Our eternity _ , she thinks. Depending on the rest of the night.

They finish the rather large meal and the bottle of wine. Triss reclines in her seat, stretching her legs in front of her. “If there was a bed, I’d want to curl up and go to sleep.”

“Another reason I chose a room without one my dear.” Yennefer fights off a yawn and tugs at her waistband. “We have one more stop before our final destination.”

Triss eyes her, her lips thinning into a frown. “Five portals? Are you sure I can’t help?”

“I’m fine. I promise I’m not over exerting myself. And we’ll sleep in tomorrow, so I’ll be sure to get plenty of rest.” 

“And when we get back home, you’ll take it easy too. The girls and I will do the heavy lifting.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes with a playful smile. “Fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. No magic tomorrow.”

“Good. Now whisk me away to our new stop before I get anymore comfortable in this chair.”

With a chuckle that rings in the air long after Yennefer quieted down, she helps Triss to her feet and into her cloak. Their waitress returns and accepts the money for the meal. As they slip outside into the cool night, Yennefer wishes there was time to wander the city. She thinks about what life would be like if they relocated to Lans Exter with their family. Would the girls be happy in a place with much harsher winters? Would Triss find employment in the royal court as their resident mage? Was that option still available to her?

Yennefer never thought of living outside of Vengerberg. Though it was in the heart of political strife and instability, she never saw reason to flee to a safer part of the world. 

But now she wants whatever is best for her family. And if that means leaving the only city she’s ever claimed as home, then she will gladly make the move. 

“We’ll come visit,” Triss says from behind her. 

“Reading my thoughts?”

“Always.” And it’s said with an endearing smile in her voice. 

Yennefer opens a portal behind the tavern and pulls the redhead through. They can hear the beat of a drum and high pitched yelps before they’ve even landed. The raven-haired woman feels her excitement grow as they spot silhouetted figures move and gyrate in time with the music. Triss’ tightens her grip on Yennefer’s hand as they emerge from the trees to join the crowds spilling into the castle's hold. 

“We’ll keep a low profile if we can,” Yennefer whispers. Coming to the Skelliage Isles is risky. The priestesses of Lofoten are still angry with the raven-haired woman for her desecration of their sacred garden. She’s maintained a quiet life since the defeat of the Wild Hunt, but still has acquaintances who can easily recognize her or Triss. She’s doing her best not to get roped into anymore grand political or magical schemes at her age. But she knows the people on the isles love to partake in revelry that leaves a lasting impression. 

It’s a religious celebration. A regional holiday that Yennefer knows very little about. 

But she knows there will be food, drinks and hours and hours of dancing. The atmosphere is friendly, unrestrained, and gregarious unlike the stuffy, elists parties of Aedirn. Here there is little division between the high-born lords and ladies and the commoners who serve them. Men in expensive tunics drink with men who wear outfits that are several years out of fashion. And there are several pockets of dancing, the music blending together to create a strange melody that is both beautiful and cacophonous. 

Triss eyes the festivities with a soft grin. A waiter passes with a tray of sweets. Yennefer flags him down and selects a slice of layered chocolate cake and a slice of blackberry pie to share. They hike a short distance where they can still see the party, but eat without disturbance. 

“I’m curious,” Triss says. She settles on the grass as close to Yennefer as possible and picks up a fork to cut into the cake. “You tend to stick to the shadows during festivals and parties, no matter the size. Yet you made polite conversation with any who crossed your path. Do you enjoy attending these festivities?”

Yennefer has thought about this question a lot the past few days as she made her preparation for tonight and its outcome. “Not particularly. I always thought them necessary though. Rub shoulders with the right people. Say the right thing to a monarch or wealthy elite. Play nice and monitor the amount of wine you ingest. There is a performance component when one is a sorceress.”

“Hm. You’re right.”

“But you always thrived in this realm.”

Triss chuckles and hugs her knees to her chest. “In my youth, I liked the attention, especially when it came from those I found attractive.”

“Now?”

“I enjoy the aura of a celebration. The joyous energy that everyone feels.” She gestures to the crowds before them, her eyes raking over the people dancing together, drinking from a large keg or placing bets in between rounds of Gwent. “There may be fights tonight and arguments. But everyone seems so happy right now. Sometimes I get swept away by the comradery of it all.” 

“I know what you mean,” Yennefer responds as she catches sight of a young couple slipping into the brush. She had little inhibitions in her youth. (She still has little inhibitions, though she and Triss have yet to fully explore that avenue of their relationship. Yet.) With each passing Belleteyn celebration, she sought comfort and companionship in the arms of others. She wanted the warm to fight off the cold dread of another passing year in her life. She was never afraid to bed those she found worthy of her presence. But the ‘May Day’ festivities made her a lot less selective with her choice of lovers for the night. 

Yennefer is pulled from her musings when Triss’ head rests on her shoulder. Instinctively, the raven-haired woman leans over and kisses the other woman’s forehead. 

“I remember our celebration after Eredin was defeated,” Triss whispers. “It was much more dour than this.” 

“The ale was decent.”

“It was.”

“Not particularly delicious. But it was strong. Numbed the senses and the mind.”

Triss presses closer into her arm. “I almost told you how I felt before that battle. I knew you would be in the thick of it. I was afraid something would happen to you and that my chance to be honest about my feelings would disappear forever.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What little courage I had was directed towards surviving the battle. I don’t think I could have fought to the best of my abilities if I knew for certain you weren’t interested in me. I carved out some comfort for myself in that uncertainty of the ‘Will she? Won’t she?’ If I didn’t know the truth, then there was always the flicker of possibility in my mind.”

Yennefer threads her fingers through Triss’ hair, scratching at the woman’s scalp as she rakes her hand down to the back of her neck. “I’m grateful we both survived.”

“Me too. Though I am curious about something.”

“Hm?” She stiffens as Triss trails a lone finger up her inner thigh, the touch so light Yennefer would believe she is imagining it if her eyes were closed. 

“If I had came to your room that night and confessed my feelings, what would have happened?”

Yennefer inhales sharply through her nose, her eyes finally fluttering shut as Triss’ finger traces intricate patterns against her leg, inching closer, dangerously so, to the heat between her legs. “I’d imagine I would need to confess how your kiss affected me.”

Triss’ finger pauses, forcing the raven-haired woman to unsuccessfully fight back a whimper. Triss notices, smirking in delight before peppering butterfly kisses on Yennefer’s neck. “My kiss? From our trick on Geralt?”

“Y-yes.” Despite the cool night, Yennefer is hot. Her clothes feel too constricting on her, too suffocating. Triss knows she’s winning this battle and continues as though she’s unaware of the affect her touches are having. 

“Then I regret staying silent that night.” She sinks her teeth into the small curve where Yennefer’s neck meets her shoulder, runs her tongue soothingly along the reddening skin. “Though I would like to make it up to you.”

“How so?” Yennefer gulps as her lover’s actions grow bolder. Keeping one hand behind her to steady herself, Triss slips her hand into Yennefer’s cloak and cups her right breast. The raven-haired woman is prepared to propel them through the next portal and into the bed that awaits at their final destination. Yennefer hisses as Triss swipes her thumb over her nipple, her lips still covering the raven-haired woman in needy kisses. 

Yennefer is ready to abandon the party. But just before she can voice her suggestion to leave, Triss’ hand is gone from her chest and the warmth from her presence is no longer there. She blinks, her senses slowly coming back to her and she gazes at the now standing redheaded woman. 

“Come dancing with me,” Triss says with faux innocence as though she wasn’t just riling Yennefer up mere seconds ago. 

“You little nymph.” Reluctantly, Yennefer accepts the hand being offered. 

“Now Yenna, you were the one who said we needed to wait.”

Yennefer’s knees quake in the aftermath of Triss’ touch and the redhead steadies her with a firm hand on her hip. “I did,” she answers. “And I have something special planned for you.”

“I look forward to it.  _ After  _ we dance.”

Emerging from their hidden spot and grabbing tankards of mead before rejoining the party, the sorceresses inch along the perimeter in search of a dance floor that isn’t overly crowded. Yennefer ducks her head any time she spots members of the ruling Clan an Craite, skirting by without incident. Triss tugs on her arm and points to the southernmost point of the hold. Yennefer follows as the redhead leads them to a wooden platform, raised a few inches off the ground. They stand there, savouring the last few dregs of their mead as they watch the dancers on the platform run through a common rhythmic performance. 

“You were always a skilled dancer.” Triss’ breath is hot on her skin, a jolt to her senses. 

“I recall us both being skilled in that area.”

“It’s been a few years since we’ve made an attempt,” the redhead says. She touches the small of Yennefer’s back lightly, teasingly. “Shall we see how well we remember each other on the dance floor?” 

The final notes ring in the air, followed closely by a round of applause from the audience. There’s a shuffling as tired dancers covered in a light sheen of sweat leave and make space for new people to join. Yennefer and Triss stand in opposite lines facing each other. The nervous energy within the raven-haired sorceress grows exponentially as a new ballad begins and the dancers stand at attention, facing their respective partners. 

They move as one, stepping closer until they can gaze into their partner’s eyes. Triss inhales deeply, her hand twitching at her sides, while Yennefer pierces her with a steady gaze that does not betray the jittery feeling inside her. Without breaking eye contact, they raise their hands, palms facing outward to grasp their partners and the dance continues. 

Yennefer knows this piece and steps well. Yet she does not recall it ever being so sensual. But she and Triss perform in a way that’s meant to arouse the other. Yennefer steps around the redhead, dragging her finger across the woman’s lower back and savours the sharp intake of air that sounds from her partner. Triss grips Yennefer’s hips a bit too tightly, pulling her back with surprising force and nearly pinning her in place. She feels Triss’ breath on her neck, scorching like a summer’s wildfire. And Yennefer’s hands dip lower and lower with each successive touch. Their steps perfectly match the other dancers, but the heat and energy that fuels them is unique to the two sorceresses. 

And when they break apart, falling back into their original formation as the ballad ends, Yennefer is nearly panting with desire, while a crimson flush covers Triss from her face down her neck and onto her cleavage hidden behind her shirt. They bow, signalling the end of the dance and scramble off the floor, knocking shoulders with the men and women who seek to fill the empty spaces. 

Triss takes Yennefer’s arm and pulls her to a shadowy corner of the hold. The raven-haired woman’s breath is knocked from her lungs as she’s backed against the wall. But Triss kisses her, swallowing her sharp gasp. 

“Yenna I shall burst if you don’t touch me,” she says, voice hoarse and needy. 

Instead of responding, the raven-haired woman blindly opens her final portal of the night. They fall through time and space, landing on a soft mountain of pillows. Yennefer hears the sudden  _ swoosh _ as the fire comes to light in the hearth. But it’s heat pales in comparison to the flames in her stomach. Triss adjusts on her lap, pressing her knees into Yennefer’s hips to keep her in place. The blue in her eyes are pushed to the edges, her pupils blown from arousal. Though she gazes at Yennefer as though she is the living embodiment of cosmic beauty. 

But the softness in her eyes is in sharp contrast to the breathless, raspiness in her voice. 

“I shall ask where we’ve landed  _ after  _ I’ve had my fill of you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to squeeze this in before the day ended. Here is the second part and I hope you enjoyed it! I will do my best to have the final part up by the end of this week!
> 
> Take care! Stay safe! Be back with an update in a few days!


	29. Where I've Loved You (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...maybe have tissues ready....
> 
> I'm also really nervous to post this! But here we go...

It is not the first time that they touch. Nor will it be the last. 

But Triss kisses Yennefer as though the seams that bind eternity together are slowly unraveling and pooling at their feet. The redhead explores her lover’s mouth with her tongue, running it along her teeth and the roof of her mouth. Their teeth clash together as they both seek more and their hands are explorers that travel the vast landscape of their bodies. When they pull apart for air, the women are red in the face, breathing heavily on the other. 

Yennefer cups Triss’ cheek and smiles. “There’s a surprise here,” she says, still fighting to catch her breath. “It’s meant for both of us to enjoy.”

“Oh?” Triss raises an eyebrow and reluctantly peels her gaze from the woman stretched out beneath her to take in the sole room of this hidden cottage. The bed sits directly in front of the stone hearth, the fire warming them. There’s a small table tucked under a window. Triss’ eyes soften and mists as she sees the wooded landscape and the dark outline of a gated city under the starry sky. “We’re back home.”

Yennefer feels her heart flutter in her chest. “Yes, we’re outside Vengerberg,” she confirms. 

“It’s home,” Triss says, suspending her search for the moment. “Wherever you and the girls are is where our home is.” 

Continuing her search, the redhead takes in the ropes of braided wildflowers that hang from the rafters, their natural scent bathing the room in a sweet floral smell. Then her eyes take in the opposite side of the room, quietly scanning the nooks and crannies until she spots Yennefer’s ‘surprise.’ It brings out a loud, unrestrained laugh. 

“Yen, you can’t be serious,” she says, chuckling. She gestures to the stuffed unicorn in the corner. With spotless white fur and a polished horn, the animal looks as though it had stumbled across the women in their coupling. 

Yennefer hugs Triss around the waist and sits up. She presses kisses into the redhead’s neck, swiping her tongue along the soft skin. “I am serious.”

“I thought it was broken.” 

“And easily mended.”

Triss’ next chuckle dies in the back of her throat, morphing into a moan as Yennefer nips at her skin and works to undo her blouse. “Yen fucking on a unicorn is impractical. And dangerous. How does it even work?”

“Let me show you.” She starts to unbutton Triss’ blouse, her lips kissing and nipping the skin her fingers work to expose. Any arguments her lover wants to make are swallowed by the moans and soft grunts that escape her. Wrapping a strong arm around Triss’ back, Yennefer lifts them from the bed, pausing as the redhead locks her arms and legs to keep from falling. She carries them over to the unicorn, pining Triss against it. 

Yennefer is vaguely aware of Triss’ hands on her body, tugging and grasping at the fine fibric. The raven-haired woman gasps, cries out as she feels a sliver of cool air against her lower abdomen. But it’s quickly replaced by warm fingers that inch down towards the junction between her thighs. She shivers, hot and desperate for Triss’ touch after the hours of teasing between them the entire night. Though she doesn’t want to submit to the redhead’s caresses and attention just yet. 

With a sound that’s part groan, part whimper, she takes Triss’ hand, pulls it from her trousers and settles it on the back of her neck. 

“Y-yenna.” But she silences Triss’ argument with her lips, kissing her hard, slipping her tongue inside with a soft moan. Yennefer’s dizzy. From the wine. The laughter. The feel of her lover’s touch seared into her mind. From the heat of their kisses and secretive side glances. Her knees buckle, threatening to give way from holding Triss. With a gentle push, she encourages the redhead onto the unicorn and pulls herself up after. She takes her lover’s lips in another kiss, this one hungry and needy, as she claws at Triss’ blouse, pushing it roughly from her shoulders. 

The unicorn is one of her more abnormal sexual proclivities. She knows this. And yet she’s always pleasantly surprised when her lovers’ eyes widen, their jaws unhinged as they gape at the majestic creature with Yennefer perched prettily on it. And many, incorrectly, label her use of the unicorn as an extreme fetish, another strange tendency borne out of the boredom that can only come from sorceresses who have expended their imagination in the bedroom. It’s a partial truth. In her youth, when magic and chaos was still new and exciting to her, she liked to use her spellwork and knowledge of the magical arts to help her experience immense pleasure in the bedroom. 

But the unicorn is more than a toy to her. It’s an exercise in trust. A way for Yennefer to gauge just how willing she is to give herself fully to whatever lover she’s currently interested in. It takes strength and balance to stay atop the creature’s back, agility to not miss the beat of a thrust, and fortitude to even consider such a feat in the bedroom. She can recall a few previous lovers who balked at the idea. 

Thankfully Triss is not one of them. 

The redhead parts her legs, letting Yennefer slip easily into the empty space. They gulp, almost in unison as Yennefer holds the woman by the waist, keeping her steady as she lifts her hips to peel off her trousers one leg at a time. Violet eyes focus on the tightening and flutters of Triss’ stomach muscles and with little thought, she lowers her head to kiss the flat expanse just above the navel. Her eyes shut as she catches whiffs of Triss’ natural musk, earthy and heady and a whine escapes her as her desire to swipe her tongue down wet lips to drink in the redhead overwhelms her. But it’s not how she wants to have her lover tonight. At least, not to start. 

Fortifying her resolve, she straightens up once more, smiling as Triss unbuttons her waistcoat and shirt with fervent energy. Yennefer sees a flash of annoyance on her lover’s face and hops off the unicorn to strip out of her pants before the other woman can dematerialize them. (They were expensive and she’s quite fond of them.) 

Triss’ eyes are nearly black with desire, her cheeks a light red. But her pupils expand further, the color in her cheeks deepening as Yennefer, with a flick of her wrist, conjures the phallus and it’s leather harness. The raven-haired woman pulls off her panties, steps into the harness and secures it tightly. 

Triss leans back, reclining against the unicorn’s neck and lifts her legs in the air, gripping her lacy underwear. Mildly stunned, Yennefer sits and watches the short strip tease as Triss rolls the garment up her smooth skin. The raven-haired sorceress inhales through her teeth, her hips unconsciously bucking in the air at the sight of glistening, puffy lips that silently beg for attention. Wrapped up in the sight before her, she misses Triss flinging the underwear at her with a cheeky smirk. 

“What? I’m admiring you,” she says, tossing the garment over her shoulder to join the pile of clothes. 

“Admire me in another way,” Triss purrs. She unhooks her bra and reclines, beautifully exposed and stretched out for the other sorceress. She beckons Yennefer with a finger, her voice liquid sex. “Come here.” 

Yennefer trusts Triss wholeheartedly. But she’s able to admit she doesn’t possess the strength to keep them both on top of the creature. So if she uses magic to assist her, she doesn’t mind sharing that secret with Triss. They’re both lifted just a hair’s fraction in the air as an invisible force holds them from below. 

Their giggles give way to sighs and then moans as Yennefer collects Triss’ slick along the phallus, before pressing it inside and filling her to the end of the shaft. She maneuvers them, lifting Triss’ hips ever so slightly so it’s on top of hers. The redhead holds the back of Yennefer’s forearms, breathing into her neck, maring the porcelain like skin with her lipstick and bitemarks. And the raven-haired sorceress thrusts into her, setting a pace that is equal parts rapid and pleasing. She rolls her hips, digs her nails into Triss’ lower back, coaxing out moans and sighs that build deep within Triss. 

Beads of sweat slide down their skin and the room quickly smells of their coupling. Triss’ breath is hot on that patch of neck. It’s far different than the first time they touched. No more nervous fumbling or hurriedly whispered confessions of a formerly unrequited love. No more frivolous searching for those unique pleasure points that drives the other delirious. There is still the same passion. The same deep need to touch each other and draw out their physical affection well past the point of exhaustion. There’s that same love, long ago created and so recently acknowledged. It burns deep within their hearts, eliminating those lingering doubts or fears that this relationship is a mistake or doomed to fail. 

Yennefer is rarely confident, though she projects a false sense of it to survive the day. But she’s certain of several things right now:

She adores Triss with every single stitch that binds her heart and soul together.

She will never abandon this woman for the remainder of their days.

She and Triss are the best people equipped to mother Emoria, Clarissa and Ciri. 

And lastly, she will forever be indebted to that snowstorm that blew Triss off the road and carried her towards Yennefer’s house. 

Triss wraps her arms around the raven-haired woman’s neck, presses her nails into Yennefer’s skin and brings their foreheads together, blowing hot air in the small space. Her hips thrusts down, taking the phallus to its hilt. Her body shakes in Yennefer’s arms. 

“You’re so close,” the raven-haired sorceress coos. “Almost there, my love.” 

The words are like a spell. Triss cries out, lifting off the phallus before slamming back down with such force it almost shakes Yennefer from the unicorn. Her back arches, her breast pressing against Yennefer’s as her mouth hangs open in a silent cry. Slick drips down her inner thigh, on the phallus, on the other sorceress’ lap. And Yennefer grunts with each subsequent thrust, dragging out her lover’s pleasure until the woman collapses in her arms, sucking in the air. 

Yennefer runs a hand down the back of her head, presses chaste kisses along sweaty skin, whispering encouragements down a trail of her design. Triss sits in her laps, dead weight as she shivers from aftershocks. 

“Gods Yenna.” Her voice is dry and hoarse. It sends a tremor down Yennefer’s spine. 

“And you doubted me,” she responds, playfully. 

Triss hugs her close, inhales her perfume and smiles against her shoulder. “I still think it’s ludicrous.” 

“But...?”

“But I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would.”

“That’s the spirit!” Their next kiss is slow and soft as they meld into each other. She feels a rush of air at her back and a weightlessness for a second, before it’s quickly replaced by a cushion. Opening her eyes, she notes the canopy at Triss’ back and smiles up at the other woman. 

“My turn.” It’s the only warning she’s given as Triss climbs off her and pulls the harness from her. She feels cool air for only a moment before her legs are pried apart and a hot tongue runs down her center. Her hands fly to Triss’ head, her fingers threading through silken red hair. Her back snaps off the mattress as the tongue is pressed inside her, tasting her. She moans Triss’ name, twisting to the side as the pad of a thumb swipes across her sensitive clit. 

Triss sets an agonizingly slow pace, thrusting her tongue in and curling to hit that inner roof that shoots Yennefer to the stars. She bucks her hips, chasing after Triss when the woman withdraws her attention. And soon she feels a firm hand pressed flat against her, keeping her exactly where Triss wants her. Yennefer tears into the bedsheet, gulping in lungfuls of air before releasing them as sighs, moans or whimpers. She’s dangerously close, practically on the verge of **_begging_ **her lover to let her find release.

But Triss holds her back just before she can slip over the edge, her cornflower blue eyes narrowed in a playful manner. When she raises her head, her lips are pulled back in a smirk. Yennefer reaches for her, pushing on her shoulder to send her back where she’s most wanted. 

Triss arches a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. “As you wish.”

Yennefer’s next moan is so loud the windows shudder. She swears to the gods and Triss as the redhead takes her clit inside her mouth, sucking on it hard before pressing her tongue back inside her. She sees black, her eyes shut so tight no light can possibly enter. And she listens to her own moans and the soft lapping from between her legs. 

And when she orgasms, it’s with a string of curses as her entire body tenses. Triss continues using her tongue, prolonging Yennefer’s climax until she flops on the mattress. The redhead kisses a trail up her body, letting her lips linger where Yennefer’s shoulder and neck meet, before finally capturing her own lips in a languid kiss. 

They’re exhausted and sweaty. Their kisses are shallow, slow, complete with soft mewls as Yennefer scratches lightly at Triss’ back. Their naked bodies are pressed together and they can feel the other’s heartbeat as it returns to a steady pace. 

“We should get Geralt and Dandelion to babysit more often,” Triss whispers. She snakes a hand down Yennefer’s side, sweeps across her thigh and touches the soft skin of her inner thigh. “I want more of you.” 

“You shall have me. As many times as you’d like.”

Triss smiles against her lips and nudges their noses together. “After a short rest.” She moves to roll off Yennefer and lay in the empty space next to her. But the raven-haired sorceress hugs her around the back of her neck, gulping as she recognizes that this is the right moment.

“Stay here,” she whispers. “I-I want to take you somewhere.”

“You said that was your last portal of the night.” Triss leans back, concerned etched on her features. 

“It was.” She brushes a lock of hair behind her lover’s ear and reaches up to kiss her forehead. Her heart starts to race again as she prepares herself for what comes next. Despite the security she feels in her relationship and the trust she places in Triss, Yennefer knows they’re about to venture into territory vastly unfamiliar to mages. But she wants to try. She **_needs_ **to try. “I want to show you something.” 

“Alright Yenna. I’m here. Show me.”

“Close your eyes.”

Triss giggles and does as instructed. She tucks her head against Yennefer’s and exhales. The raven-haired sorceress takes a moment to clear her thoughts and searches for their mental connection. They both shiver as they feel the tendrils of magic thread across their consciousness, melding their thoughts together. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

They’re in darkness. Above and below. As far as the eye can see there is nothing but black. Slowly abstracts shapes come into focus. Greens. Browns. Dark blues with white lights twinkling across it. 

“A forest?” Triss whispers. 

“Mhm.”

The shapes become clearer. Cedar trees. Elms. And pines. Ropes of moss form a haphazard canopy over them, with gaps in the netting to let moonlight and starlight in. A beaten path leads deeper into the forest. It’s quiet, save for the yelp of a distant wolf or the hoot of an owl. Yennefer takes them down the path, walking slowly until they can hear voices. Conversations. And a flute, mandolin and drum in the midst of a ballad played in all the high courts of the land. Wildflowers grow in neat bunches along the path. Their scents fill the air and their blooming petals sway with the gentle breeze. The ambient conversations grow sharper, more distinct as they near the celebration. 

Yennefer runs a hand soothingly down Triss’ back as the woman tenses in her arms, clearly trying to work out what is happening. 

“We’re almost there,” she whispers.

The path opens up to a wide clearing, filled with their friends. To one corner is several rows of tables weighed down with an assortment of food, steam still rising and dissipating in the air. The guests sit on pews cut from neighboring trees and sanded down to a smooth finish. It’s easy picking out familiar faces. Philippa and Sheala, the former with a softer scowl than what she usually wears. Kiera and Lambert, both rosy cheeked from the wine and mead that flows freely from pitchers into waiting goblets. Eskel towards the back, rubbing at his arm with a shy smile. Towards the front, stands Margarita and Tissaia. Their hands are clasped tightly together and the blonde comforts her lover as the archmage fights a losing battle against her sobs. And Geralt wears his finest doublet and trousers, beaming at them with tears in his eyes. 

Towards the front of the clearing is a wooden archway on a small platform. Freshly picked flowers decorate it, the whites, reds and blues of the petals standing out against the brown of the wood. The girls, **_their girls_ **, stand there, done up in fine dresses, or blouse and pants in Ciri’s case. Ciri holds Clarissa in her arms, while Emoria clings to her legs and they all turn towards the center of the archway, gazing at their mothers. 

Yennefer conjures herself and Triss, standing across from each other under the archway. They stare into each other’s eyes, tears falling down their cheeks. They both wear colorful silken dresses with long trains that spill over the edges of the platform. Their appearance is untraditional. Though they’ve balked at tradition from the very beginning. Their mouths move, though no words come out. Except for two that are said in unison:

“I do.”

And they come together for a kiss as the audience erupts into cheers and whistles. And Yennefer presses herself against Triss, smiling into the kiss that seals their vows and their newly combined lives. 

She inhales, blinking as the vision is interrupted by a real kiss that tastes of salt. Triss grasps her face, but Yennefer doesn’t care. She knows the woman’s touch will never leave a bruise. She kisses back with as much fervor and love and tenderness as she receives from Triss. And when they pull apart, they’re both grinning from the giddiness that bubbles within them. 

“I prepared a speech,” Yennefer says. “But I can skip straight to the question if you want.”

Triss shakes her head vigorously, a hand covering her mouth as she fights back sobs. “No, no. I want to hear it. I’m going to say ‘yes’ regardless. But please tell me your speech.”

Yennefer smiles a little wider, feels lighter and less afraid. She cups Triss’ cheek, her thumb swiping across to brush aside the tears that fall, though more take its place. “You were there at nearly every milestone of my life. From Aretuza, to Sodden, to the coup, and battling the Wild Hunt. You loved me before I could even fathom what it meant to feel important to someone else. It may not have always seemed like it, but your friendship buoyed me, helped me survive some of the darkness moments of my life. Our journey wasn’t linear or perfect. Though it was right for us and we found our way to each other. You were a part of my past and my present. I want you now and in my future forever.” 

Triss hiccups, choking on the sobs that bubble out of here. Her entire body trembles with nervous energy, ready to launch onto Yennefer at the right time. The dark-haired sorceress cries silent tears and pushes up into a seated position with Triss planted firmly in her lap. She connects their hands, laces their fingers together and looks directly into those shimmery cornflower blue eyes. 

“Triss Merigold, will you continue to make me the happiest I’ve ever been and marry me?”

“Yes! Oh Yenna, yes! A million times yes! In every language I know, the answer is yes!” As expected, she launches into Yennefer’s arms to embrace her and plants kisses anywhere her lips touch. She pushes the raven-haired sorceress onto her back and presses her knees into her, pinning her in place. “My love,” she cries, punctuating it with a kiss. “My love. My heart.”

“My wife.” Yennefer arches into the kiss, inhaling as Triss’ hand slides between them. They make love, giving themselves to the other over and over and over, not stopping until early in the morning when the sun greets them with the first stretches of its light. They’re physically exhausted as their night finally catches up to them. But emotionally they’re amongst the clouds, reveling in the beauty of the question asked and answered.

They lay on their sides, cuddled close together, both flush from the exertion of the past few hours. Yennefer’s eyes droop, sleep calling to her. But she feels Triss’ lips moving against her back.

“Hm?” she asks, bringing a hand to her mouth to kiss the knuckles. 

“I was just practicing.”

“Practicing what, my dear?”

Triss smiles against her spine. “How best to introduce myself. Tell me what you think of this. Triss Merigold of Vengerberg.”

“I love it.” 

The redhead pauses for a beat. “Yennefer Merigold of Vengerberg?”

“Sounds like a dream,” she answers. “Sounds like a dream meant for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer to write because seriously how do you have sex on a unicorn?!?! I hope my explanation made sense! I tried my best!
> 
> So our two favorite sorceresses are getting married! Yay! And it will be its own separate fic! So look forward to that in the near future!
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos!! I look forward to hearing what you all think of Yennefer' proposal!


	30. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's just a short little epilogue to finish off this story! Hope you enjoy it!

The portal opens in front of the cottage in the middle of Vengerburg and the sorceresses, hand in hand, step through and slip inside the darkened house. It’s quiet. The only light comes from the early morning sun that shines through the windows. The women stand in the entryway, waiting.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” Yennefer mutters, suppressing a yawn behind her hand. Triss smiles, leans over to kiss her cheek and helps her out her cloak. 

“They’re likely resting,” she says, draping the garments over the stair’s railings. 

“Where do you think they've crashed?”

“The living room.” 

They stumble down the hallway, sore and wiped from the previous night. But still in a state of wild euphoria. Yennefer snakes an arm around Triss’ waist, pulling her closer to kiss the crown of her head and the redhead hums in appreciation, the vibration reaching Yennefer, making her heart flutter in her chest. “I can’t wait to tell them,” she whispers, her lips still ghosting over her lover’s fiery locks. Over her  _ fiance’s  _ fiery locks, she mentally corrects. It will take some time to adjust to that word. Fiance. How strange, unfamiliar and yet so right. Perfect. 

“Ciri will be thrilled,” the redhead whispers. “She asked about marriage just a few days ago.”

“Did she? She never mentioned it to me.”

Triss smacks her stomach lightly. “Liar.” 

Yennefer looks at her with innocence in her violet eyes. Though her smirks belied the innocence. “She may have whispered a word or two in my ear. But the idea was my own, long ago planted in my mind and heart.”

Triss stops them just a foot away from the living room’s entrance and faces Yennefer. She runs a hand up the raven-haired sorceress’ hip, her slim fingers dancing along the wrinkled folds of her blouse before coming to rest and curl around her neck. “Who knew you could be so romantic?”

“It’s all for you Triss. Forever will be.” 

“I feel nothing but fortunate to be the object of your eternal affection.”

“Hm.”

Triss pulls them back against the wall, sighing as Yennefer moves to cover her lips with her own. Before either can deepen the kiss, something small and soft knocks into their legs. The sorceresses look down, spotting a mane of brown hair that’s unruly and unkempt from sleep. Yennefer stoops, gathering Emoria in her arms as Triss attempts to flatten her hair with her hand. 

“Good morning!” the girl greets, her voice both cheery and hoarse. 

“What did you all get into last night?” the redhead asks. 

Their daughter buries her face in Yennefer’s neck and cracks open an eye. “Revelry,” she says in a croak. 

“Thankfully our home is still intact.”

“Ciri made us tidy before we all went to sleep.” 

They enter the living and Yennefer immediately spots several items out of place. But she swallows back her complaints, saving them for after they’ve all had a proper rest. 

Both women feel a sense of gracious warmth at the sight before them. Dandelion stretches out across the sofa, his feathered-cap covering the top half of his face and his mouth opened in a snore. The top three buttons of his purple and golden jerkin are loose, revealing the cream flowing shirt underneath. Clarissa, tucked into the crook of his arm with her back against the sofa’s back, grasps the third button in a tight vice. Her drool gathers and dries on Dandelion’s jacket and Yennefer winces, praying that the bard will not cause a ruckus once he wakes and notices the stain. 

Seated on the floor in front of the hearth with their backs against the sofa’s legs, Geralt and Ciri lean into each other. The young woman rests her head against the witcher’s shoulder, with his head laying on top of hers. Ciri twists inward, cuddling closer to Geralt’s warmth in her sleep, much like she did as a child. A small pillow lays against Ciri’s leg and a blanket is bunched and pushed partially under the sofa. 

The fire died overnight and there is a chill in the air. Yennefer steps to the hearth, but stops when she feels a glare pressing into her back. She spins, holding up her one free arm, an apologetic look on her face as she faces Triss. “I’m sorry. I’ll go rest.”

“Are you in trouble?” Emoria asks against her shoulder. 

“Nope. And I hope to keep it that way.”

Yennefer and Emoria both blink as a thin mattress with a heavy quilt on top appears on the floor in front of them. Triss raises an eyebrow, her command a silent one which the raven-haired sorceress is quick to follow. She lowers onto her knees and lets Emoria onto the mattress before kicking off her boots and sliding in next to her daughter. She lays facing the room and watches as Triss conjures logs in the iron grating and small flames that jump from log to log until the fire grows and warms the room. Emoria crawls over her, giggling as she tumbles over Yennefer’s side before quietly curling into her. 

“Tell me about your night,” the sorceress asks. 

“Geralt cooked steak and potatoes. Dandelion told us stories about your adventures. You saved his life.”

“Several times by my recollection.”

Once the fire is roaring once more, Triss moves to Geralt and Ciri, smiling down at them with fondness in her eyes. Weaving her hands through the air, she pulls a heavy quilt out of midair and with a  _ snap _ lays it on top of the witchers. She sweeps hair from Ciri’s face, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead and pinches Geralt’s cheek with a chuckle, causing him to grumble in his sleep and swat her away. 

“We went for a walk through town afterwards. There were puppeteers in the main square. We stayed for the whole show. But Clarissa fell asleep towards the end.”

“I bet,” Yennefer whispers. 

Moving on from the witchers, Triss turns her attention towards the baby and bard. Once again, her hand moves through the air calling another quilt into existence which she drapes over the pair. She pushes Clarissa up, double checking that she’s secure in Dandelion’s embrace. Using two fingers and her thumb, Triss moves the hat from the bard’s face and sets it neatly on the desk in the corner. Both Dandelion and Clarissa sigh, almost in perfect unison as they settle in once more. 

“What happened next?” Yennefer probes. 

“We came back to the house. Dandelion and Geralt went into the cellar for wine. Ciri took us outside so we could watch the stars. Then there were more stories. And myths. Geralt talked about some of the monsters he fights while traveling. He said the last time you two reunited he was covered in the blood of a griffon.”

Yennefer wrinkles her nose at the memory. “He smelled dreadful that day.”

“He said you wouldn’t embrace him.”

“I was in a very fine outfit. I adore Geralt, but it’s difficult cleaning blood off.” 

They both hear Triss messing about in the kitchen. Yennefer wonders if she’s making preparations for breakfast, though it is still early in the morning. Before she can think to reach out to Triss through their mental link, she hears soft footfalls in the hallway and seconds later the redhead is back, holding two glasses of water. Without prompting, Emoria sits up and accepts the drink handed to her, downing most of it in three large gulps. Triss offers the other glass to Yennefer who swallows half of it before handing it back. When the glasses are empty, Triss returns to the kitchen. 

“We had a late night snack,” Emoria says, launching back into her story. “Ciri and Geralt made sandwiches from the roast you cooked the other day. And we came in here to listen to more stories.”

“Hm I see. And what time did you  _ finally _ go to bed?” Yennefer asks.

Triss enters the room once more and with a sigh, sits on the side of the mattress before laying on her side and rolling to face Yennefer and Emoria. Their daughter smiles sheepishly, her brown eyes fixated on the ceiling’s beams. “Two or three.”

“Explains why everyone else is dead to the world,” Triss says. She tosses an arm over Yennefer’s waist and pulls herself closer. 

Emoria yawns from the extra warmth, burying herself in the embrace. She blinks, fighting off sleep. Yennefer knows in a few minutes, the girl will drift off. But she’s bursting with her own questions, forever curious. “What about your night? How was it?” 

“Wonderful,” Triss whispers. “And carefully planned out. Yen took me to places that possess sentimental value to us. Aretuza. Maribor. Skelliage in its own unique way. And here. Home. The most important place in our hearts.” She yawns into her hand then and blinks a few times. “But the details of our night shall wait until after we’ve all had a proper, long rest.” 

“Agreed,” Yennefer says. 

Triss grins and a twinkle flashes in her eyes, before quickly disappearing. “Though I will reveal a secret.”

“What?” Emoria’s voice is the ghost of a whisper. 

They haven’t talked about how they would share the news of their engagement. Yennefer knew they would need to pen letters and send them off to Tissaia, Margarita, Philippa, Keira and the others. And of course they would tell their daughters before anyone else. She imagined they would all sit down to a warm meal on a sunny day. Triss would practically bounce in her chair, while Yennefer does her best to keep her hands from shaking. And once the news was out there, she’d gaze upon each of the girl’s faces, expecting to see everything from utter disbelief to pure joy. 

But those dreams are pushed to the side as Emoria stares wide eyed at them. 

“Yennefer and I are to marry,” Triss whispers. “She asked me late last night and I very quickly said yes.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Triss answers with a nod. 

Emoria settles on her back with an awestruck look on her face. “Can I be in the wedding?”

“Of course,” Yennefer says. “You and Ciri and Clarissa will all wear your best outfits for the ceremony. We’ll give you whatever assignment you want.”

“You can even stand next to us when we recite our vows.” 

Emoria wipes at her eyes, catching the tears before they fall far. “Can I pick the color of my dress?”

Yennefer and Triss both smile as they sense her excitement building within her, mixing with their own giddy anticipation. They listen quietly as she fires off questions. The sorceresses take turns answering her questions, mentally filing her responses for later when wedding preparations begin in full force. They keep their voices conspiratorially low so as not to wake the others. Yennefer glances up from time to time, catching Triss’ eye before looking away with a blush. She draws the covers up to their shoulders as Emoria yawns repeatedly in her hand. 

“I’m so happy,” Emoria says, her words blending together, her tongue and eyes heavy from a desire to sleep. She sighs once and opens her mouth to speak once more, likely to voice another question. But she falls asleep tucked under their arms and with a gentle smile on her face. 

Yennefer fidgets with the quilt, pinching it between her fingers before catching herself and smoothing it out once more. Triss uses her free arm as a pillow and stares over their daughter at Yennefer. 

“She wore herself.”

“Yes she did.”

“I doubt she asked half the questions burning in her mind,” Triss says fondly.

“That’s our curious daughter.”

“Hm. We’re certainly an oddball family, don’t you think?”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow, smiling playfully back at the redhead. “How so?”

“Two sorceresses, a young witcher, an academic in the making and our very well-mannered baby, who may turn into a musician if Dandelion gets his way.” She pauses to push a lock of hair from Emoria’s face. “Though there’s nothing I’d change about any of this.” 

“Me either.” 

The sun continues to rise over Vengerburg, it’s bright rays slipping in through the windows and stretching across the carpeted floor. But Yennefer thinks, somehow, Triss’ eyes are more brilliant and dazzling than the light outside. She doesn’t believe this family, this love is a gift from destiny or fate deciding in her favor. She’s been at their mercy before and was always sorely disappointed. 

No. In her heart, she knows this love is something stronger than destiny, something few people ever experience. She cannot name it. Can’t even conceive of potential substitutes for a name. It’s mystical. Ethereal. 

It’s eternal. 

And it’s meant only for her. 

Triss looks directly in her eyes and mouths ‘Let’s get some rest.’ Yennefer nods silently. But neither women make an attempt to shut their eyes. After a second, Triss mouths ‘I love you,’ words that are etched in the raven-haired woman’s heart. She feels magic dancing around her thoughts and she allows Triss in. 

Together they envision the future that lies ahead, their wedding and the decades that will follow. Their thoughts are a beautiful, lengthy, cohesive mural that will soon be breathed into this world. Their eyes slide shut, their dreams entwining so that there is no end or beginning. A continuous flow of laughter and dances and shared meals. 

Of warm mornings spent cuddled up in bed. 

Of adventures to the countryside, sea and mountains. 

Of passionate, frantic kisses under the stars. 

Of the maturation of their daughters into beautiful, well-rounded, kind young women. 

Of cottages bursting with people they care about. 

And of their love blooming under the light of countless days to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well my friends, that is the end of 'Show Me How To Build A Home!' It's been a wonderful, emotional, heartwarming and tearful ride! I'm so incredibly honored you all have stuck around and supported this since the very beginning! It means so much to me to know how many people adore this fic and my writing! 
> 
> Of course, this may be the end of this story, but it's certainly not the end for this particular family. There's the wedding to look forward to and I hope to write short scenes and/or fics where we pop in on the family and see how they're doing! And I'm working on some modern TrissxYennefer stories which I hope to post soon! Needless to say, I still have some more stories in me and I can't wait to share it with you all. 
> 
> Again thank you all SO MUCH for supporting this fic, for leaving kudos and writing comments!! I have so much love for you all! Take care, stay safe and keep being awesome! See you, hopefully sooner rather than later! xoxo


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